


Our Boy Cor

by empress9



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood and Injury, Bonding, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Road Trips, Swearing, Underage Drinking, Young Cor Leonis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23331958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empress9/pseuds/empress9
Summary: “Seventeen, huh?” The age requirement for recruits. He doesn’t believe him for a second. “You sure about that Leonis? I’m the Prince’s Shield, you know. Can’t have you giving out false information to the Crown’s retinue, now can we…?” He was playing to the kid’s obvious respect for protocol.Leonis flushes a bit around the face. He sighs. “In that case…” he pauses “Thirteen, sir...”“Thirteen?!” Clarus can’t hide the surprise in his voice.“…Next month.” Leonis finishes.“What, twelve? You’re fucking twelve, kid?!”-Snippets of the life of a young Cor Leonis, from the viewpoints of those closest to him. From a snarky twelve year old recruit... to a fifteen year old on the front lines... how his found-family shapes him into Cor the Immortal.
Relationships: Clarus Amicitia & Cor Leonis, Clarus Amicitia & Weskham Armaugh & Cor Leonis & Regis Lucis Caelum & Cid Sophiar, Cor Leonis & Cid Sophiar, Cor Leonis & Regis Lucis Caelum, Weskham Armaugh & Cor Leonis
Comments: 64
Kudos: 119





	1. The Kid's Alright

**Author's Note:**

> I just love itty-bitty Cor alright?? Been thinking about a few snippets in his life that I'd like to explore. This is the first. Featuring Clarus and his not-cool-for-a-second mullet. <3 enjoy!

Clarus was late.

The Prince’s Shield was currently shuffling through the Citadel’s corridors, trying his hardest not to draw attention to himself. Hard thing; being all of six foot four and built like nothing else. He hastily adjusts the Crownsguard jacket he’d only half fastened. Damn thing. _Why so many fucking buttons?_

He catches sight of a familiar face as he barrels around the corner.

“I know. I know.” He says, even before Weskham has the chance to scold him.

“The King and the Prince are already inside-”

“Aiishh. I know, I know!” He finishes the last button on the trussed-up fuckery of a jacket. He feels suffocated in it.

“Composure, Amicitia. Tsk, tsk. Remember your decorum,” Weskham does a little imitation bow, smirking, his hands flitting to adjust Clarus’s collar.

“Oi! Back off Wes!” He playfully slaps his hands “Am I good? You sure? How’s the hair? Eh?”

Clarus flashily drags a hand up his new haircut.

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Eat my shorts.”

The two enter the viewing room, Clarus tugging at his too-tight jacket. _Fucking decorum_.

Regis is there, giving him a cheeky look. He doesn’t say anything, but when Clarus take his place behind the Prince, he hears a scoff.

“Sorry I’m late.” Clarus’s voice is reserved.

“What’s the matter, got your head caught in a woodchipper or somethin’?” Regis whispers back. Clarus swears he hears a stifled snort come from the direction of Weskham.

“Pshh. Up yours.” He tries to be quiet. “Sir.”

King Mors makes a low coughing sound, alerting the young Shield to his presence. Behind him is Clarus’s father, Claudo, the King’s Shield. He’s giving his son a death glare.

Clarus just nods in his direction, cracking a wicked grin and finally focuses his attention to the task at hand. The Royal contingent were sitting in the observation deck, above the Citadel training grounds. A swarm of potential trainees run around the wide track below. Numbers taped to their chest. Clarus tracks a few of them with his eyes. _That one’s not bad. He looks big. That one’s fast. Damn not as many as we’d hoped._

It was tradition to have the King and his retinue oversee the new recruits in an official evaluation. To make sure they passed muster, or something. Clarus actually enjoyed scrutinizing the teens with Regis. Like now-

“Mmnn. Check out the legs on 14. Looks like he fell right out of a bird-nest…”

Clarus muffles a laugh.

“Damn… were we ever this scrawny?”

“Speak for yourself, Reg. If it wasn’t my job to beef you up you’d be blending right in with these candy-asses-”

“Pshh!” Regis is impishly smacking at him. Clarus feels his father’s gaze burning a hole in him. _Ah, fuck it_.

Screw decorum. Regis was still a teen himself, Astrals’ sakes.

Absently, King Mors motions to one of the Guards. He gives a nod.

With that the young recruits down below start organizing into groups. Sets of two. One-on-ones. Always Clarus’s favorite part.

“Oh bless him. Number 3’s managed to knock himself in the face with his own elbow.” Regis is sneering.

“Difficult, that.” Clarus tries to demonstrate by pulling one of Regis’s arms, attempting to replicate the maneuver. Regis cackles. He tries to knock him off.

“ _Boys_.”

It’s a solemn word from Clarus’s father. It shuts them up alright. King Mors is attempting to remain absorbed on the trainees, but there’s a tug at the corner of his lips.

“Sir.” Clarus bows slightly. Regis is sticking a hand in his mouth, smile contorting around it. Sly bastard. He’s got his legs stretched on the railing, chair slightly tilting. He views the teenagers below with bored indifference.

Until-

“Hmmn.” Regis is leaning forward now.

“See something you like?”

“Number 9… oh damn-” He tilts his chair upright, lounging haughtily against the rail with his elbows. That was surprising. Regis rarely was impressed by the dipshit youths the Guards managed to scrounge up for their trainee program. For the most part they were Citadel-bred aristocrat brats. No real finesse. Just daddy’s influence. But occasionally one of their many recruitment programs managed to pull up some of the lower-class urchins, and those were the ones with attitude.

“Holy shit!… sorry, dad,” Regis waves a hand in his father’s direction. Mors chuckles. “Did you see that?”

Clarus fixes his eyes on his quarry. Number 9. A seemingly innocuous kid. Kinda scrawny, wiry. But tall. As Clarus watches, the boy circles his opponent, the other trainee he’d just felled. The other boy is on his feet, making to make a quick counter-attack, but he’s clumsy. Clarus can see.

Before he can even blink really, the opponent is in the dirt again. He barely registers what happened, but now he sees it. Number 9 steps back. Light on his feet. He’d flipped the boy’s attack like it was nothing.

“Damn.” Clarus agrees with Regis’s assessment. “Kid’s alright.”

He continues to watch as number 9 wipes the floor with the no-doubt uppercrust twit he’s battling. Everything about his technique was superior. There was little hesitation in any of his attacks, all calculated, deliberate. The kid had skills. Even Clarus had to admit.

There was a weapons portion next. For the trainees to demonstrate their skillfulness with arms. Clarus leans forward now, too. Following Regis’s example. It was rare they ever got this into the training evaluation.

Number 9 is… well fuck…

Apparently giving that kid a blade turned him into some kinda pre-pubescent gladiator.

The kid is… _godsdamn_ … impressive!

He slashes an attack on the practice dummy. The blade sings in the air, cutting like an autumn breeze. He pulls back, then he’s slicing again. Two strikes, a turn, he’s got the blade posed now, glinting in the sunlight. It’s fucking sexy to watch. He picks up the knives next. Doesn’t even have to look at the target. He just whips one out of his hand, then the second, barely a heartbeat, then the third. Clarus bends forward, squinting to see.

Un-fucking-believable.

Regis just whistles below him.

Even Mors is looking impressed. 

“Kid must be some kinda prodigy. Even you weren’t that good in your evaluation, Clar.” Regis is nudging him in the ribs.

“As if.” But Clarus is grinning. The kid was damn entertaining. He ought to find out his name or something…

The evaluation draws to a close, and Clarus still has his eyes trailing the impressive number 9. His plain, mousy brown visage did little to substantiate his talent. Most of the other teens are looking beat, sweaty, clobbering over each other to reach the water stand. Number 9 stands off to the side. Looking modest. _What a talent…_

Regis is standing, dropping an arm over Clarus’s shoulder. “That was quite the show, eh? Think he’d give you a run for your money.”

He snorts. “Sure.”

“Looks like we don’t have to worry so much about an influx of half-wit Crownsguard this year. Hmmm.” Regis hums contentedly.

“If only.” Clarus grumbles. He knows that half of those chosen would be some lesser noble’s cousin’s grandson or something.

“Now about this little… situation you’ve got goin’ on-” Regis’s hand is now scruffing up Clarus’s hair. “This some kinda political statement, huh? Are you making a protest in the name of the Crown on behalf of beaver rights or something?”

“Bite me. I’ll have you know this look is _in style_!”

“Hah! Style? Is that what you call this affront to fashion?” Regis is practically squawking.

“I believe they call it a mullet, sir.” Weskham chimes in. He’s holding back a laugh.

“You both can suck it!” Clarus storms off, but he’s sporting a smirk. 

They go about the rest of their day, their duties, but the young Shield can’t get the image of that godsdamn kid outta his head. Fast as lighting. Smooth, dangerously effective. A prodigy, Regis had said. Hmm. Maybe he was right. 

-

Clarus didn’t expect to run into the kid so soon after that.

But alas…

He was making his way to the registry office. Some paperwork that Regis had handed off to him. _Wasn’t that Weskham’s job…_

Screw it.

The young Shield storms into the office, hoping to make quick work of it. Hoping there wasn’t a line.

There isn’t.

Just one other person at the desk. And Clarus can’t help but eavesdrop.

“I’m sorry, son. But without the proper paperwork-”

“But I’ve given you all I have. Isn’t this enough?” A surprisingly young voice.

“This isn’t a Crown-certified document, boy. I’ll need the proper documents if we’re to proceed-”

“But!” the boy in front was fumbling. “B-but.. I don’t.. Isn’t this enough?” he flashes a sheet of paper as if it would convince the clerk.

It was then that Clarus recognizes him. As the young man was frantically trying to plead his case, Clarus catches a glimpse of his face.

Damn.

Number 9.

That fucking prodigy.

“I’m sorry, son. But you’ll have to leave. If you can’t provide the proper forms, then there’s nothing I can do for you.”

“But… no! You have to let me in. I..I-” There's panic in the kid’s voice now. Maybe that’s what drove Clarus to action.

Without thinking, he strides forward, leaning next to the kid on the clerk’s desk.

“There a problem here?” He smiles at the clerk. He recognized her. Asper… something. Some old-school Lucian biddy.

“Lord Amicitia,” she addresses him properly, and Clarus feels the kid stiffen at his side. “I’ve just been forced to turn away this young cadet. It appears his paperwork is not in order.”

Clarus turns to the kid now. He looks… _yikes_. The kid was glaring at the clerk. Up close he looks red-faced and huffy, like he’d just been told to go to bed without dessert. It was kinda funny. Clarus didn’t expect a kid with his skills to looks so… young.

“What’s your name, son?” he asks.

And just like that-

“Leonis, sir!” the kid turns to address him, feet clapping together, chin held up high.

He transformed from petulant snot-nose to overblown soldier in a matter of seconds.

It was fucking comical.

Clarus laughs. “At ease, boy. Now what’s the problem with your paperwork, then?”

Dutifully, the kid hands it to him. It was a crumpled admissions form. Stapled to it was a poorly-printed copy of a birth certificate. No stamps.

“You know I can’t accept that Amicitia,” the clerk is pursing her lips.

At his side, Leonis is rigid. Like he was fighting back emotion.

Leonis… hmmm… not a family name Clarus was familiar with, definitely not Citadel-bred…

Ah fuck it…

He places a firm hand on Leonis’s head, ruffles his hair a bit. The kid looks mortified.

“Let me handle this, Asper.”

The clerk looks up, skeptical.

Clarus winks at Leonis. “Come with me.”

He beckons the kid, leads him from the registry to another corridor. Leonis is following like he’s some kind of confused chicken.

Godsdamn.

He was really young-looking now that Clarus got a good look at him. A mousy-brown thatch of hair. Slightly freckled cheeks. Damn. How old was he?

“I watched your training eval, you know?” Clarus makes idle conversation. He heads in the direction of Regis’s office. “You were damn impressive, I have to say.”

“Thank you, sir.” His reply is curt. Respectable.

Clarus thinks it’s so godsdamn amusing. This little pretend-soldier.

“How old are you, Leonis?” Clarus was beginning to see the problem here. Kid probably tried to fudge the numbers on his documents or something.

“Seventeen, sir!” he bows his head a bit.

Clarus appraises him. “Seventeen, huh?” The age requirement for recruits. He doesn’t believe him for a second. “You sure about that Leonis? I’m the Prince’s Shield, you know. Can’t have you giving out false information to the Crown’s retinue, now can we…?” He was playing to the kid’s obvious respect for protocol.

Leonis flushes a bit around the face. He sighs. “In that case…” he pauses “Thirteen, sir...”

“Thirteen?!” Clarus can’t hide the surprise in his voice.

“…Next month.” Leonis finishes.

“What, twelve? You’re fucking twelve, kid?!” Now Clarus is doing nothing to mask his disbelief. “Godsdamn!” Clarus is snickering.

“I’m sorry for being dishonest, sir.” Leonis is still a stiff mannequin at his side.

“Lighten up, kid! And none of this _sir_ business, sheeesh! I’m not your drill sergeant.” Clarus slaps a hand on his back. “Not every day I get fucking hoodwinked by a godsdamn twelve year old… Astrals.”

“You won’t report me then, si-” He manages to stop himself that time.

“Hell no, Leonis. We need more kids like you in this fucking service. Godsdamn spunk is what you’ve got, and I won’t let it go unnoticed. Now come with me.” Clarus pulls him forward.

They’re nearly at Regis’s office now.

“Where you from, Leonis?” Clarus is damn curious about this little smooth operator.

“Jejun Compound. Outside of the main city block.” He looks sheepish.

Jejun. Kind of a shitty neighborhood if Clarus was being honest. Explained the kid’s aggressive streak.

“And how do you get skills like that in Jejun, kid?”

“Practice.” It’s the closest he’s come to smiling. Clarus smirks at him.

“Got a first name, Leonis?”

“It’s…” he pauses “Cor, sir.”

“Cor, huh? We’ll make a Guard of you yet, Cor.”

The two arrive at Regis’s door, and Clarus doesn’t bother knocking.

Regis looks up from his desk, eyes stopping when they register Leonis behind him.

“You on baby-sitting duty, Clar? Who’s the kid?”

“This is Cor Leonis, our newest Crowsguard initiate. You remember him from the eval, don’t ya?”

Leonis is stiff and awkward at his side. It's clear he didn’t know he’d be facing the Crown Prince of Lucis on his first fucking day. 

“Hot damn!” Regis is on his feet. “Number 9! Nice to meet you kid. Here sit down.” He gestures to a chair.

Cor tries not to look so uncomfortable as he takes a seat. He’s got long legs, a mature face for someone so young. Clarus is weighing him up. Fucking twelve… Astrals…

“Here, Reg. Kid’s got his documents all fucked up, but I figured you could just-” Clarus waves a hand vaguely “I don’t know. Bypass the system somehow.”

“Oh thanks. So that’s all I’m good for eh? Bypassing the system? I’m still working on that amendment that’ll ban that atrocious hairstyle you’re sporting.” Regis is taunting him, poking at his head.

“This is _in!_ You’ll see! All the Guards will be wearing it like this!”

“Yeah well I’m gonna prohibit it! _Prohibit,_ I say! I’m drawing up the paperwork now!”

“Aissh. No wonder you never get shit done,” Clarus ribs him back.

Leonis is sitting there… all of twelve years old… looking absolutely fucking out of his element… gob-smacked to find the Crown Prince and his Shield fucking goofing off in his office. 

Clarus thinks it’s hysterical.

“So whaddyou say, Cor? Ready to join the Guard?”

Leonis pauses, calculating.

Then he’s glaring at Clarus, eyes intent.

“Yes. But you won’t get me to get that haircut.”

Gods. His face. He’s dead serious.

It makes Clarus burst out laughing.

And then Regis too.

Hell. _Finally_ , Clarus sees a smirk tug at the kid’s face. It makes him look his age at least. Gods. _Twelve_. Almost thirteen. Kid would make a name for himself, that’s for sure. Youngest ever Guard initiate.

“Alright then, Reggie,” Clarus addresses his Prince. “Let’s get our boy Cor here fitted for a uniform.”

Then Cor smiles for real. It’s godsdamn refreshing. Clarus hopes to see it more often.

Hopes the kid’ll fit right in with the Guard, talent like that.

And hopes that they make fucking uniforms fit for twelve year olds… _astrals_...

-


	2. Hardly a Charity Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regis's interest in young Cor leads him to a discovery about his home-life. Turns out Cor has it more rough than he'd ever anticipated...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little look into Regis's and Cor's budding friendship. I wanted to explore Cor's backstory more. The fact that he's not from a well-born family was always really telling for me. Enjoy~

For Regis, Cor Leonis was becoming his newest form of entertainment. From the first time the Prince noticed the young Guard take his post, a bodyguard in the royal apartments no less, Regis found that the kid was damn fun to mess with.

There he was, resolute as a fucking pillar. Rigid. Back straight. A model Crownsguard specimen.

But his face.

Gods.

Regis wanted to laugh every time he saw him.

It seemed the boy had a hard time keeping his facial features as meticulous as the rest of his form. He would constantly scrunch up his eyebrows, as if to appear older, more threatening. But it only managed to make him look like a glowering hellion. 

Ever since it was revealed that the boy was twelve, actually thirteen now, after his initiation, Regis couldn’t help but draw pleasure from the subtle impishness that exposed his pre-pubescence.

Like now-

Regis is watching as Cor attempts to remain composed in his duties. He knew the boy couldn’t see him from his vantage point behind the leafy plant half-obscuring his view.

When the young guard thinks that he's alone, he begins fidgeting. Tossing his weight back and forth between his feet. And then-

Just as Regis had seen him do on the other occasions, he begins striking combat poses. Subdued at first. Fist outstretched, repetitive, in a position Clarus had tried to drill into the Prince himself.

The kid is barely even concentrating on it. Like it was just some kind of nervous tick. Regis grins from his hiding spot.

Cor looks around again, ensuring that he was really alone. Then-

He moves into a fighting stance. Light footed. Arms tucked at perfect angles. He makes a few shadow-strikes at the column at his side. Testing it before-

He scopes the area again-

_Slam._

Cor whips a long leg across the brunt of the marble column.

And just like that-

“Ummmngh!” the kid tries to suppress his pitiful little whimper. He’s hopping on one foot now, the other clutched between his hands, rubbing furiously.

Regis can’t hide his laughter.

Cor’s head snaps up, aching foot slamming down on the polished floor. He’s back to being a statue again. But his eyes are heatedly searching the hallway.

“At ease, boy.” Regis announces himself, popping out from behind the plant.

Cor looks mortified. If anything, it only accentuates the petulant scowl he usually wears.

“Sir!” he’s refusing to meet Regis’s eyes.

“Take a chill pill, Cor. _Astrals_.” Regis enjoys the little reaction Cor has to his being so casual. Looks like the kid is trying to fit it into his internal calculations. Because everything is so godsdamned calculated about this kid. Except perhaps, for his little behind-the-scenes habits. Regis feels a smirk form on his lips. 

“You need some extra training for all that pent-up aggression?” he’s teasing him now. “Want me to put the good word in to Clarus. I can have him run you through drills til you’re crawling on all fours.”

“If you see fit, then, yes sir!” Gods. The kid is so fucking serious.

Couldn’t he remember that he was just a teenager, for, like, a second? 

Regis just wants to see the kid act his age.

“Astrals, Cor. I’m just pulling your leg.” He playfully pats the boy’s cadet hat. The kid just adjusts it right back into place. Impeccable.

“Master Amicitia’s coaching has been invaluable, sir. I’d be happy to learn more from him if you wish-”

Speak of the devil-

At that moment, Clarus rounds the corner, eyes glinting when he spots his Prince and their little tween quarry.

“Boys!” He slaps a hard hand on Regis’s back. Damn brute. “We havin’ a little school-girl gossip behind the bleachers, eh? Talkin’ about who in the Crownsguard’s got the best ass? Cuz if it’s not me-”

“Bag your face, Clar.” He shoves his Shield off.

Cor is looking even more humiliated. Damn, could the kid scowl any harder?

“Just telling our boy Cor here that you’d be more than willing to give him some extra training. You know. Real man stuff. Because I think he’s ready for the big leagues.” Regis grins wickedly.

“What this little pipsqueak?” Clarus is crossing his arms, dragging his eyes up and down Cor’s form. “Think you can handle me one-on-one, kid?”

That gets a rise from him. Cor lifts his chin high. He's shorter than the Shield, obviously, but he doesn't look intimidated. “Don’t underestimate me, sir.”

“Ooooh!” Clarus is feigning alarm. “Watch out, Reggie. This kid might just kick all of our asses without us having a say in the matter.”

Cor grits his teeth. He looks like he’s holding back a riposte.

Regis has to admit he’s godsdamn cute all riled up. “I’d say he might just bring the whole Citadel down, one column at a time,” he winks at Cor, who’s now red-faced like nothing else.

The Prince and his Shield share mirth at the young cadet’s expense. Cor’s trying his hardest not to break composure, but he looks like a nut about to crack. 

Regis isn’t trying to be mean. He just wants to see the kid… be a kid. It’s kind of depressing seeing him be so unyielding. The prince feels guilty. With the state of Lucis, guess everyone had to grow up fast. It's a sign of the times, he supposes. But still. He doesn't want Cor to sacrifice his adolescence.

Not on his behalf at least.

So he would tease him whenever he saw him. Trying to get the kid to crack a godsdamn smile. He nearly succeeds a few times too.

But the kid is stubborn.

Regis begins to look forward to their interactions. A wink as he passes into the living quarters. A “Hey, Cor my boy!” which would make the kid blush, especially in the company of others. Regis thinks they were developing a friendship of sorts. It's nice. Besides Clarus and Wes, Regis didn’t really have companionship with anyone close to his age. Not that Cor is his age, being five years younger. But maybe it's his boyish charm, his slight immaturity that draws Regis. Cor still keeps things close to the chest, trying to be professional. But occasionally he takes Regis's bait. The Prince just wanted him to open up a bit. He became a kind of a pet project for him.

Everyday he’d make a point to try to talk to the kid.

Which is why when Cor stopped showing up to his post, Regis finds himself disconcerted. 

It had been three days, and every time Regis passes the post where the teen was supposed to be stationed, he feels uneasy.

“Hey, Brackus? Where’s Leonis?” he questions the Guard who’d taken Cor’s place.

“Don’t know, sir. He called in for some personal time the other day. Some family matter.” That’s all he divulged.

Regis frowns.

Because in all his teasing Cor he’s never once inquired about the boy’s family.

Clarus had said the kid was from Jejun Compound. A blighted area. One Regis never had reason to visit.

Damn.

He hopes the kid is alright…

Another week passes, and there’s no sign of the missing cadet.

Regis is worried now. Not because he’s missing his Guard duty, but… Cor had become a kind of comfort to him. His absence was unsettling.

So he decided to make inquiries about him.

Which is how the Crown Prince of Lucis, half-disguised in civilian street clothes, found his way to the heart of Insomnia’s slums feeling like a real turkey.

_Gods. What is he even doing?_

_Is this an overreaction?_

But the thought of Cor, missing for two weeks now, validates his cause.

He’s at the apartment building, the one listed as Cor’s place of residence.

It’s… well… Regis is feeling like a real horse’s ass now. His expensive track jacket is more out of place then he’d thought.

The building is derelict. Scattered graffiti litters its façade. There’s something dripping a constant leak from the upper-floor and Regis can’t tell where it’s coming from. He guiltily looks back. Weskham’s got the car running, looking skeptical at the Prince’s life-choices. Regis gives him a thumbs up. Wes grumbles something under his breath. 

The Prince reaches out and knocks on the door of the apartment. He thinks he hears voices behind it, a bunch of yelling. He takes a step back.

The door opens.

Peeking out between the door-frame is a little girl. She’s looking at him all critical, and by gods it’s the same godsdamn scowl that’s always painting Cor’s face.

“Hi, sweetie,” Regis hates the phoniness in his voice. “Is your big brother home? Cor?”

The girl just glowers and pulls her head back in. Regis thinks she’s just going to ignore him. Then-

“COR! There’s a rich guy’s been lookin’ for ya!” Regis recoils at her volume. Surprising for someone that small.

He begins adjusting the collar of his jacket. Damn. He thought he’d blend in. But the brand name was now glaring accusatorily at him.

He hears a commotion behind the door. “Not the curtains, aaiish. Play with something else would ya. Ursa, who is it?-”

Before he can register it, Cor is at the door, blinking up in earnest surprise. 

The kid’s got on a plain t-shirt and denim jeans, and gods… it’s the first time Regis has seen him out of his uniform and he looks… so regular. It’s… different. Not that the clothes don’t suit him. They do. It’s just… he looks so _young_. 

“Y-your Highness-” Cor doesn’t seem to know how to react. “What.. what are you… _fuck_ -” there’s a cry from behind him. “Dammit Ven! Give that back to your sister! I done told you, you could play with it after! Aaaugh!” Cor is bending down trying to peel off a sibling that’s now clinging to his legs, weeping incessantly.

Regis is… silent, unmoving.

Cor ducks back into the apartment, apparently scolding another of his siblings into giving back some toy or something. Regis can't see in, but he hears the voices of several young children. When he reemerges, Cor’s red in the face. It highlights the smattering of freckles he’s got dotting his skin.

“I- I’m sorry, sir. No excuse for that really,” he’s talking fast. It’s the most the Prince has ever heard him say at once. “Damn kids don’t know how to behave. They never listen. Sorry for all the racket. _Astrals_. What..? What brings you here, sir?” there’s an edge of panic in his voice. It make Regis feel sick inside.

“Cor…” Hell. Regis forgets what he wanted to say “You- you never showed up for your duties. I was concerned.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Cor lowers his head, ruffling his hair with a shaky hand. It makes him appear even more like a child. “Bit of a family crisis. My… my mother…” he looks ashamed.

In the background there’s a loud crash. Glass breaking.

Regis hears a disgruntled sound, like someone yelling incoherently.

“Corri!” it’s the little girl from before, she’s tugging on Cor’s t-shirt. “Momma’s makin’ a mess again.”

Cor looks panic-stricken. And so godsdamned embarrassed, Regis decides to pretend he doesn’t notice.

“I-I… be right back sir.” He shamefully retreats back in the house.

And Regis tries his hardest not to eavesdrop. But… _gods_.

There’s loud yelling. Both Cor and what appears to be his mother. Another loud crash. More yelling. Finally it subsides, and Cor comes back to the door. He looks so empty. A blank slate on his face. Trying to hide the humiliation somehow.

“A-are you…?” Regis hesitates.

"It's nothing."

Then he notices there’s blood on the kid’s hand. He’s holding it to his chest. Crimson drops soaking his white shirt. 

“Astrals, Cor. You alright?” Regis makes to grab the hand, to take a look at it.

Cor yanks back. His voice is wavering “I’d invite you in, sir. But I’m afraid it’s not fit for a Prince. Is there anything else you wanted? I should be resuming my duties as soon as I’m able.” He’s stalling. Scrambling to find his way out of explaining himself to Regis.

And the Prince is… gods. He’s so sorry for the poor kid.

Cor. Thirteen. Acting like a godsdamn grownup, pretending he was alright. What the hell was wrong with that mother of his? This was _unacceptable_.

“Cor.” Regis tries being stern. Maybe to get through to him better. “Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on here? Do I need to call child services-?”

“No! Please no, sir!” Cor is desperate. “It-it’s my mother, sir. She-she’s sick. She gets these episodes. I’m just helping around the house, dealing with the kids, cuz she can’t take care of us all when she’s like this. When she snaps out of it she’ll be fine. I _swear_.” He sounds close to tears now.

Regis feels his heart break.

He places a tentative hand on the kid’s shoulder.

“What about your father? Can’t... he help you and your siblings?” Regis almost doesn’t want him to answer.

“He left, sir…”

“To work? Maybe when he gets back I'll have a word-”

“…two years ago.”

“Oh.”

Regis doesn’t know what to say.

Cor is scrunching his face, looking like he's fighting back all kinds of emotion.

The Prince had no idea that his young friend was living like this.

All the times he’s teased the kid, goading him into acting like a normal teenager… he’d been dealing with all of this. Regis feels sick.

Sometimes...

Sometimes Regis didn’t realize how fucking _privileged_ he was…

It was times like these-

Standing on the dilapidated balcony of the Leonis household, wearing his fucking brand-name jacket like a godsdamn elitist hotshot, gods… he feels like such a fucking piece of shit.

Here was Cor, carrying the world on his shoulders. With the decency to remain composed. Even now. Pretending he wasn’t hurt, pretending he was mature enough to sustain his family, fucking thirteen, with his mother indisposed.

Regis never felt more ashamed of himself.

He levels a look in Cor’s eyes. Made him hold his gaze. “Take a walk with me, kid.”

“I… the kids.. I-” Cor scrambles.

Regis motions Weskham over. The advisor keeps the judgment from his face. He doesn't even take a second glance at Cor’s sorry state.

“Wes’ll mind them. It’ll only be a minute or so,” he nudges Cor forward, and they walk down the steps back to the street below.

Cor wraps his arms around himself, self-conscious.

Regis shrugs off his luxurious jacket, tossing it over the kid’s shoulders.

Cor doesn’t say anything.

Eventually they reach a bench, and Regis takes a seat. Cor reluctantly sits next to him, but he still isn’t making eye contact.

“Boy.” Regis says, breaking the awkward barrier between them. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what, huh?” Cor tries not to let his voice shake. “That I live like this?”

“About your mother…” Regis feels uncomfortable.

“She’s got some kinda mental condition. I don’t know. For the most part she’s fine. Its just-” Cor grabs at his hair. “She can lose her mind sometimes. Forgets who she is. Forgets who I am. My siblings. There’s seven of us…”

Fuck.

It’s worse than Regis thought.

Cor continues. “We were fine until dad... left. He couldn’t take it anymore I guess. Haha.. all the mania.” There’s a sick tremor marring his words now. “Mom’s been ok though, until lately. She kinda just _lost it_. I-I..” he holds his bleeding hand as if it was the source of his shortcomings “I have to help her, right? She’s my m-mother… gotta help… g-gotta get the kids to grow up right…only..I-I.. I don’t.. I don’t.. _fuck_ -” He unleashes a sob and it’s the last straw in Regis’s heartbreak.

The Prince pulls the kid against his chest, and lets him cry.

He lets him cry.

He doesn’t judge.

Doesn’t hold it against him.

This poor fucking kid.

Thirteen.

Probably dropped out of school…joined the service…

All for his broken family.

Regis ignores the tears as they fall from his own eyes.

He just rips a piece of cloth from his shirt, uses it to bandage the kid’s bloody hand. There’s bits of glass stuck in the skin. Astrals. This fucking kid would be the death of him.

He doesn’t acknowledge it when Cor stops crying. The boy just sits up, embarrassed, still looking at him like he can’t believe the Crown Prince of Lucis dragged his sorry ass down to the ghetto just to comfort him.

And Regis doesn’t blame him. Doesn’t say much as the two make their way back to the apartment. Only that he hopes to see the kid back at the Citadel soon. And that he can keep the jacket.

He leaves him in that shitty apartment.

Leaves and drives away.

Back to his separate life.

Cor looks so broken.

He never wants to see him that way again…

-

The next time he does see him…

A loud banging alerts Regis to the intruder.

It’s Cor and he’s fuming.

“What is this?” he’s storming into Regis’s quarters, a place he’d never entered before. Protocol and all. “You think you can just waltz in and play hero in my pathetic little life huh?”

Regis blinks at him.

“Am I some kinda fucking charity case for you? I give you my little fucking sob-story, and, _what?_ You use your little magic rich-boy powers to make it all better? _Huh?!_ ” 

Cor is pacing back and forth. He doesn’t seem to have control over himself.

Regis attempts to butt-in “I was only-”

“Only _what?!_ Only giving out handouts to some poor unfortunate guttersnipe cuz you felt bad that his daddy left him and his mom’s a lunatic? Huh? Am I your little goodwill project, am I? So that you can feel good about yourself for a hot second?”

The kid is all riled-up.

Regis tries again. He can’t help but choke out a snortle “I- listen!”

“No _you_ listen!” Cor is up in his face now “Is this some kinda joke to you? My sad little predicament? Well I got news for you, Caelum. I’m not about to start taking handouts from you! I’m not some fucking freeloader you can bribe with a flashy jacket! I can get by fine on my own, I’ll have you know! Don’t fucking break your neck chasin’ down stray juveniles to entice on my fucking account!”

Cor steps back.

He’s done. Huffing on his last sentence. Practically panting and so close to grabbing the Prince’s collar.

Regis doesn’t know how to react. So the giggle that emerges from his lips in entirely unintentional.

Cor bristles. “What did I fucking say-”

“Cor, please!” Regis chokes down his inappropriate laughter. He can’t help it. The kid just stormed in like a fucking whirlwind, red-hot temper, no holds barred.

It’s only now he registers his surroundings.

Regis had been sitting on the couch, but behind him-

Weskham coughs. And Clarus is stifling his own chuckle.

“ _oh_.” It’s the smallest little admission. After his tirade, Regis didn’t think Cor was capable of sounding so meek. 

But the kid’s face upon realizing he’d walked in on the Prince and his closest entourage… fucking priceless.

“Don’t stop on our account,” you could hear the grin in Clarus’s voice. “Please. Continue tearing Reggie a new one. He never gets this kinda savage treatment.”

“I. Am. So…” Cor can’t find the words. “I must apologize, sir! Forgive me for my unacceptable display. I truly must have lost my head-”

“Cor.” Regis pulls him into a hug. “You must stop with this ‘sir’ nonsense. I implore you!”

The kid is flushed. Half from his outburst, but now he’s looking so confused at being embraced by the Crown Prince.

“As to your claims,” Regis continues “I have enlisted a care-giver to look after you mother. With no reservations about your own ability to care for your family. I just thought it fit to have a practiced nurse take over so we can have you back to your duties. As for handouts… this is hardly a charity case. I’ve set up a fund in your name. All of your Crownsguard earnings will be placed in an account that your family can access. The fees for your mother’s nurse will be drawn from that.” Regis leans back and smiles.

Smooth.

Like he’d intended.

Only he hadn’t planned on having Cor storm down, guns blazing, but hell if it wasn’t worth the show.

“Oh…” Cor appears conflicted. “Th-thank you, sir… I guess.”

“What’s that I said about _sir_ , Cor. Call me Regis.”

“Thank you… Regis.” It’s refreshing. “I am sorry... for making a scene… I trust you’ll keep this little thing between us…” he glares back at Clarus and Weskham. As if they’d consider facing his wrath if they’d spilled about his outburst.

“My lips are sealed.” Wes assures.

“No worries, Cor. We all take care of each other here. No secrets, eh? Next time you tell me when you’re having trouble at home,” he pats his arm lightly. “Hand ok? Need me to check on it?”

They go on like that.

Regis slowly drawing the kid out of his shell.

Cor pretending like he was all put-together.

But sometimes… sometimes he let Regis in.

Would tell him about his brothers and sisters…

Sometimes about his dad…

So Regis had invited him into his private circle.

And ever since then-

_Gods._

If the kid was a model Guard, unflinching, protocol-driven statue in public…

Behind closed doors he was a fucking menace!

His outburst to Regis that day was only a precursor, it seemed.

Once the kid let go he just… well he had no problem calling Regis out on his bullshit.

And the Prince was glad for it.

Cor was a godsdamn spitfire.

And Regis would do everything he could to keep him that way.

He would look after him as well as he could…

Make sure the kid was taking care of himself…

Cor didn’t begrudge him for it anymore…

And if he noticed the extra money in his account every month… well… he never brought it up.

-


	3. Muscle Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weskham and Cor have a sparring match. Regis orchestrates a little boys night, and Cor tags along begrudgingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find Wes's character so intriguing. I wanted to have a cute moment with him and Cor, as I figured he'd be the more sensitive one of the group. Clarus continues to be a raging goon lol. enjoy~

Weskham is hardly an aggressive man. For the most part, the twenty-one year old keeps himself straight-laced, dignified.

But its times like these-

Sweat dripping from his eyes, that hard kick of adrenaline…

Damn.

Maybe he should have been born a fighter.

They’re in the Prince’s private training room.

Him and Clarus.

Reggie is watching, gleefully from the sidelines. With Cor. And Wes is pleased to see the kid is gaping at him, hardly covering his surprise.

It looks like the kid’s been analyzing the whole match, eyes flitting between Weskham and Clarus, trying to see how the smaller man was able to over-power the larger Shield…

“See I told you not to judge a book by its cover,” Regis says to the young teen. “Don’t you go getting on Wes’s bad side if you can help it.”

Weskham currently has the Prince’s Shield pinned in a headlock, scrambling in his hold, desperate to break out, save some face.

Wes laughs.

“Oi quit braggin’. Ya caught me off guard is all…” Clarus grumbles beneath him.

The advisor releases him and they both sit back, panting, but in high spirits.

“That’s how it’d done, ol’ Wessy!” Regis is at his side, handing him a drink. “’Bout time someone called Clarus’s bluff. My Shield was under the impression I just keep you around to sign all my paperwork.”

Wes takes the praise with a humble smile.

“Shut up, Reg. Or do you want me to call _your_ bluff? Oh, what was that excuse you gave me the other day? That you’re too refined for hand-to-hand grappling? Too pretty?” Clarus pretends to make a go for Regis’s face.

“As if I’d let you damage this masterpiece,” he showcases his good looks, haughtily. “Millennia of Lucian royalty, culminating in _this_.” He flips his hair like a godsdamn teen heart-throb.

Wes almost chokes on his water.

“Oh please. The second they start printing that ugly mug on a stack of Yen, I’m switching back to Gils… honestly,” he reaches out to ruffle his friend’s head, teasingly.

“Damn, Wes is just set on destroying us both now!” Clarus hoots. “Now we just need someone to show him who’s boss-”

“I’ll take him.”

It’s a quiet statement, from behind them.

Cor.

Wes had forgotten the boy was there.

The teen is staring hard at him now, a glint in his eyes.

“What’s that, boy?” Regis is getting to his feet now.

“I said I’d take him. One-on-one.” The kid looks eager.

“Oooooh!” Clarus whoops. “Slick as they come, Weskham Armaugh vs. our boy Cor! Now that’s a match I gotta see!”

Cor starts taking off his uniform jacket, catching Wes’s eye. “If you’re up for it… Wes?”

“How can I say no to that cute face?” Weskham is getting to his feet now, sizing up the boy.

Cor is tall for his age. And surprisingly well-built. He keeps light on his feet though, quick, calculated. At the side of the mat, Regis and Clarus take a seat. Twittering like school-girls. The Prince is looking far too happy about this match-up.

Stretching briefly, Wes makes to prepare his stance.

But just like that-

His apparent readiness is all Cor needs before he makes the first move.

Wes had expected the teen to hold back initially, gather up those calculations he always seemed to be running in his head, but no-

The kid is hard on the offensive, and it takes all of Wes’s quick-footedness to dodge his first attack.

A swish of the arms, and Cor is penetrating his defense. The advisor pulls back, a grin forming on his face.

This was gonna be interesting.

 _Fwip_. Cor is whipping around him, fast as lightening. Fists seeking an opening. But Wes holds his guard. He prepares a strike back but, damn, the kid brings up his arm in such a precise way, and then turns it into a counter-attack. Wes has a hard time blocking that one. So fast.

For all his youthfulness, Cor attacks like a godsdamned seasoned warrior. His hits have solid strength behind them, none of that hesitation a lot of novices showed.

 _Slash_. His arms are cutting towards Wes’s vulnerable side, and he quickly adjusts his stance to block. Wes isn’t gonna let him in that easy.

They end up circling, playing off each other’s attacks as if it’s some kind of ballroom dance.

It’s elegant. Like it’s choreographed.

None of that brawler stuff Clarus tried to pull before.

And Wes is godsdamned captivated. The sweat he breaks out in confirms it- the boy is making him work.

Cor keeps his face neutral. It masks the cold reckoning behind his eyes. The kid doesn’t betray any of his moves before he makes them.

And the advisor has a hard time keeping up.

Damn.

The kid is so fast.

But he doesn’t seem to tire.

Wes is pulling back a bit, reevaluating and it’s all he needs-

Cor is whipping a long leg and-

Suddenly Wes is flat on his back, breathless.

And there’s Cor. Kneeling above him, aloof and not even winded. He’s got his hand caught under Wes’s chin, an unspoken threat.

Then surprisingly-

The kid winks. And he’s pulling Wes up by a firm hand.

Regis and Clarus are making sounds of amusement. But Wes isn’t embarrassed. He’s fucking impressed.

“Damn, son,” Wes lets out a pant. “I knew you were good, but, by gods! What are they feeding you?”

Cor tries to hide his satisfaction. “You fight better than I thought,” is what he says and it’s so godsdamned sincere.

Weskham claps a hand on his shoulder. Next to him, he realizes the kid is already almost as tall as him. And now that he’s up close he does see some sweat dotting his skin. So not impervious then.

“See, Wes? Isn’t our boy Cor a champ?” Regis is pulling them both in some kind of huddle. “You should see him take on the other Guard cadets. I swear I saw one piss himself when he found out he’d be sparring with this spitfire!” he ruffles Cor’s head affectionately.

“Boy’s got mad skills. Hell, even I haven’t got the nerve to go toe-to-toe with him yet,” Clarus grumbles.

“He’s scared of me.” Cor says, and it’s so serious they all burst out laughing. “What?… he is.”

And this time, the smile creeps into his voice.

This godsdamned teenager…

Somehow Wes found himself privileged to have been able to see him in action.

Maybe Regis had been right…

The kid was some kind of prodigy…

-

And a godsdamned stickler when it came to following protocol, it seemed…

Regis, being the unruly teenager he was underneath all that forced aristocracy, had decided they would sneak out of the Citadel that night.

A clandestine liquor run.

It had been far too long since they’d all had a chance to let loose.

But there was Cor-

Hot on their heels since they’d escaped from Regis’s quarters, and damn near chewing their ears off with what sounded like the official Crownsguard handbook.

“Protocol mandates that-”

“Lighten up, buddy!” Clarus is already a little buzzed. He wears his civilian clothes (a too-tight tshirt that’s somehow both see-through and sparkly) like it’s the embodiment of sex-appeal. It isn’t. “If you’re dead set on following us all the way to the bar, I can at least offer you a drink, kid.”

“Yeah, _Corri_. We can get you a shirley-temple for your troubles!” Regis snickers.

“I should be reporting you for misconduct, Caelum,” Cor just rambles on. “This is unbecoming of the Crown prince, and I’m disturbed that his closest escorts are enabling him-”

“Maybe jazz up that shirley-temple, on me. This boy needs a little boozing, all this gibbering... sheesh!” Wes nudges him mockingly.

“And _another thing!_ -”

Cor continues like that all the way to the bar.

It’s a night-club called Midnight Melodies, and hell if it doesn’t deliver.

Turns out said melodies are the drunken voices of a dozen or so highly-inebriated Insomnians that litter the seedy joint.

Regis and Clarus make themselves right at home; the Prince, in his disguise, joining right into the chorus of some popular Lucian folk tune. 

Weskham hangs back with Cor. The teen looks so out of his element, it’s somehow cute.

The boy clearly doesn’t know what to do with himself and Wes can see the deliberation beating his face. He was probably contemplating if he should go to protect his Prince, or just stay as far away from the grungy mess of the interior of the bar as possible. 

Cor decides on just hugging himself against the bar. Still wearing his bloody uniform. He fiddles his hands nervously. Wes had noticed that. When he was uncomfortable, the kid always fidgeted. It was kinda endearing. Made him seem his age.

Weskham orders a drink for himself, and a soda. He hands it to Cor, and grudgingly the boy accepts.

“You never been to a bar, Cor?” He makes small conversation.

“A few times.” The boy admits. “My dad liked to drink.” It’s all he discloses.

Wes doesn’t press him. Instead he nods in the direction of their two friends, who are now behaving most unbecomingly. They’re already drunk, it seems. But now they appeared to have stumbled on a supply of glitter and were currently throwing it at each other wickedly. “Reckon Clarus’ll leave here still wearing that godsdamned shirt?”

Cor snorts. “Gods. I don’t know what’s worse. Amicitia shirtless or lookin’ like a godsdamned glitterball. It wouldn't be the worst thing if it goes awol after this though...”

The kid can be funny when he wants to. When he lets his guard down.

“I hope Caelum knows he’s gonna get caught. And not cuz I’ll rat, just he won’t be able to get that glitter out of his hair for weeks, sheesh!” Cor sips at his cola like its fine wine.

Wes likes the kid. And not just because he has no problem bitching about Regis.

He’s amusing to watch. Droll. But accurate. And smart too.

“Don’t go getting tanked on me now, Wes. You can’t leave me to handle those two jackasses on my own.”

The advisor smirks. “I’ll handle myself, kid. Don’t you worry. Mmhmm. As protocol mandates-”

Cor takes a swipe at him as Wes starts to mock. He dodges easily, laughing, and is pleased to see a smile breaching the kid’s face.

There’s a friendly camaraderie between them. And Cor calls him _Wes_ , not his surname like the others. It makes him feel flattered, somehow.

He sits back.

Taking stock of the club, Wes’s eye is drawn to the corner wall. There’s a crusty piano, half-hidden under alcoholic paraphernalia. He gets up before he can stop himself.

Plopping down on the sturdy bench, Weskham flips up the cover of the old piano and begins pressing the keys, evaluating the sound. It’s surprisingly well-tuned.

Hmmm.

Cor wanders over to him, curious.

“You know how to play that thing?” There’s genuine interest in his voice.

“Mmnn,” Wes adjusts his fingers. “You tell me.”

And he begins to play.

It’s a jazzy little melody. His fingers remember it well, languidly feeling out the tune with ease.

Cor is blinking with wonder. He’s staring hard at Wes’s fingers, the keys they press, the motions of his hands.

It’s relaxing for him. The advisor enjoys his playing. It had been quite a while since he’d gotten the chance. When he finishes the song, he leans back, content. Cor hovers behind him, looking impressed.

“I didn’t know you could play that,” he’s still staring at the keys, as if to uncover their secrets.

“Yeah well. Gotta have a hobby or two to break the monotony of life.”

Cor sits down on the bench next to him. There’s a look on his face that Weskham can’t define.

“Show me.” says Cor. And he’s so earnest. So Wes obliges.

Moving his hands into position, he begins playing the tune again, slowly, looking up at the young teen as he did.

Eyes bright, Cor is tracing his movements intensely. Like he’s trying to memorize it.

“Go ahead kid,” Wes moves to give him space. His fingers are awkward, but Cor tries his best. There’s a timid hesitancy as he tries to replicate the sounds that Weskham had just produced. He stumbles.

“Gah!” Cor gripes. “Show me again?”

Wes does. Showing him the proper finger placements.

The boy is stumbling, but trying wholeheartedly. It’s so godsdamned endearing, the advisor has to smile.

“You’ll get it eventually,” He pats the kid’s head.

Cor is still concentrating, with that scrunched-up look he always gets when he’s serious.

“I’m no good. Uughh!” He slumps back, defeated.

“You just need practice kid. Takes time. Here,” Wes places his fingers over Cor’s. “It’s like with your training. Your combat maneuvers. You practice a lot don’t you? I can tell.”

Wes is guiding the fingers into place. Cor’s hands are surprisingly smooth. And pink-ish under Wes’s darker ones.

“See? It’s all just muscle memory, kid. Once you get the hang of something it’s all just like going through the motions…”

The tune comes out more legible. He feels Cor brighten under his touch.

With his amount of talent, Wes wonders at what kind of disciple the kid had to ingrain in himself to get so skilled at fighting. He was methodical beyond his years. It was clear.

When the advisor had dropped Regis off at his address, that rundown little apartment, Wes had kept his judgement to himself.

Now he wonders how much of the kid’s life was just going through the motions…

“I haven’t heard songs like this on the radio...” Cor sounds wistful.

“Well you wouldn’t. I didn’t learn to play like this in Insomnia.” Wes says.

“You’re not from Insomnia?” Cor perks up.

“Nope. Keycatrich.” It’s an affluent area outside of Lucis, and from Cor’s look, he knows the boy is aware of that. He hopes it doesn’t highlight any insecurities the kid has about his own home life.

Cor doesn’t seem to be bothered. “They have better bars in Keycatrich? Cuz I feel like defecting if I have to hear another round of ‘ _I Left My Heart in Insomnia’_ one more time…aaaiish”

As if to punctuate his point- a loud burst of singing erupts from the back of the bar. It’s the Prince and his Shield, now too shit-faced to even function properly. And, alas- Clarus has lost his un-godly top.

“Ah, fuck me…” Cor has never sounded more like a pissed-off thirteen year old and it makes Wes inexplicably happy.

So he plays another song.

Half for his benefit, half for Cor’s.

It lightens to mood enough for them to ignore the horrendous screeching that was Clarus’s excuse for singing… if only for a little while. 


	4. Back-roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cid meets Regis's newest bodyguard. He takes a liking to the kid and makes plans to teach him how to drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god. I literally know *nothing* about cars so take this with a grain of salt yikes. Also. Cid.  
> Basically this chapter is:  
> Cid: if y'alld'dve coulda done asdfghjklhghar ya hear  
> Cor: what. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Now before you jump down my throat listen-”

“And why in tarnation should I do that, eh?” Cid sneers. “This here does all the talkin’ for itself.”

The mechanic gets up for a closer look. Hands rubbing grease on his already dirty trousers.

Regis just blinks at him with that puppy-dog face.

Damn kid.

“I know, I know-”

“If ya know ya don’t need me to tell ya then.”

“You can fix it up, right?”

“Oh so that’s what yer here for. Not fer my two-cents worth o’ wisdom. No. It’s my fixin’ hands, sheesh.”

“C’mon Cid. You’re the only one I can bring her to without getting chewed out by my dad.”

“Alright, alright.”

Cid bends to his knees to survey the damage. It’s the red sportscar that was gifted to the young Prince for his sixteenth birthday. Cid had helped Mors pick it out. But now- The front bumper is a wreck. Twisted and dented, half of it falling off. The license plate is also missing. Scratches scrape the side of the red paint job.

“Astrals, kid. Didn’t I teach ya how to turn properly? I know these city streets are narrow but sheesh!”

Regis has his arms crossed and he brings his shoulders up in a kinda half-assed shrug. “It was an accident. He- I mean… I didn’t see there was hedge until…aaaaiiish, sorry.”

“Dammit, boy. Was all my teachin’ just noise in yer ears?”

When Cid clambers back up, rubbing at his achy knees, he notices the kid in the car.

“What’s this, Reggie? Ya pick up a stray after you mauled this car o’ yers?”

The boy in the passenger seat is staring at him with a face like a grimace. Cid eyes him warily.

“That’s Cor Leonis. My _bodyguard_.” Regis is grinning like a dumbass.

“Bodyguard, eh? The Guard that desperate they’re pullin’ kiddies from the playground? What’s a youngin’ like that guarding you fer anyway?” 

“Cute huh? He’s giving you his death glare. Means he must like you.” Regis beckons the boy. “Cor!”

The kid slides out of the car, and he’s taller than Cid expects. He’s in full uniform, and for all his obvious effort, appears to carry himself like a proper soldier. But that face… sheesh-

“Damn, boy. Who licked the red off yer candy?”

“That’s just his face, Cid.”

The boy, Leonis, doesn’t say anything. Just continues staring at the ground like someone stuck a burr on his saddle. Glancing up, finally, he gives Cid a once over. Clear blue eyes. He flinches a bit and turns his head back. To survey the damage to the car and, if possible, he scowls even harder.

“Cor, this is Cid. Royal mechanic. And purveyor of infinite wisdom.” Regis twirls his hand in Cid’s direction. Leonis looks up, curious.

“You fix his Highness’s cars, then?” His voice is still a bit high. Cid can’t place his age.

“Oh, yeah.” Regis says. “Cid here is a godsend. Taught me how to drive and everything. He’s even working on a secret project for me.”

“I didn’t know the Crown had a private mechanic…”

“Well it happened ta be a position specifically made fer me. Ya see, old Mors and I came to an understanding some years ago, after I told him I was done with all that cloak ‘n dagger business…” Cid doesn’t want to get into all the dirty details, but hell, the kid looks intrigued.

“So I told him I’d be better suited ta fixin’ him up with some better wheels. Since then, I’ve been servicin’ all the vehicles in his Majesty’s Royal Fleet. Plus this little runt’s sorry ol’ banger” he glowers at Regis. 

“Hey! I take care of her alright. Just got in a little accident is all.” The Prince holds up his hands, defensive.

“Haven’t I told ya to be careful with the turns? She’s a speeder, this. Not some city buggy.”

“It was late, alright. Couldn’t see properly. He only just… I mean… I only scraped her along a hedge, but, damn. Tore the whole plate off.” Regis is avoiding his gaze.

Cid narrows his eyes.

The young Prince makes himself comfortable in Cid’s relaxing chair, hands behind his head. He looks… well… hell. Cid would say hungover, but that's a scary thought.

He’s beginning to form a picture of what really happened here…

Scuffing his dirty hands again, he addresses the kid. “Say, Leonis. See that there tool box over yonder? Yeah that’s the one. Bring ‘er here.”

The youth carries over his tools, seemingly interested in what Cid’s about to do. The mechanic lifts the hood of the car, looking for the accessible screws.

“They teach ya anything about cars in the Guard, son?”

“No sir.”

“Sheesh. This’ll need to come off. Gimme that screwdriver.”

Leonis complies. He’s shyly peering over the hood, looking at Cid’s hands with curiosity.

Cid is unscrewing the bumper from the inside. “What’s a kid like you doin’ runnin’ around playin’ soldier for?” He strains against the screws resistance.

“It’s an honor for me to serve this city, sir.”

“Astrals. That’s some top-notch propaganda on legs. Hand me the… no the other… yeah that one-”

He adjusts his position. The kid’s still watching him like a hawk.

“From my time in the service, I can’t recall Guards bein’ plucked so young? How old’re ya, Leonis?”

“Thirteen, sir.”

“Hmph. Mors was always keen as mustard ta booster up his army. But this takes the cake.”

Thirteen. Hell. Mors, the King, should know better. Maybe he was losing his touch with reality.

Cid ought to have a word with his old pal…

“Were you in the Crowsguard too, sir?” Leonis asks.

“Not the Guard, no. More of a gleaner o’ information. Hold this up for me wouldya kid?”

Leonis is at his side, lifting the bumper as Cid angles himself to reach the inner screw.

“Nasty business that. I’d much rather spend ma time under the hood of these ol’ beauties than holed up in some godsforsaken Nif den… let ‘er down now, that’s it…”

Cid takes the weight off the kid’s hands. Leonis is staring hard at him now. He leans a bit closer.

“You were a spy.”

He doesn’t ask. Just says it.

“Somethin’ like that…” Cid grumbles. The past is the past for him. No use singing the blues about it.

He removes the bumper and gives it a once over. “Sheesh. Gonna need a new one altogether.” He’s aware that Leonis is still gazing at him, lynx-eyed. Reggie appears to have fallen asleep in the background.

The mechanic moves to inspect the left headlight. Part of the covering is shattered. But that’ll be an easier fix.

He sets to work.

Feels the question before it’s asked…

“What was it like?”

Sheesh.

Leonis wears a keen expression on his young face.

“You think I’ll be willin’ ta spill all our Crown’s secrets to a nosy sprog such as yerself?” Cid spits.

The boy withers. “Just… curious is all…”

“Hmph! Hand me that wrench there boy, and maybe I’ll tell ya a little somethin’”

The wrench is in his hands before he can even turn around.

“Ya gotta promise me, Leonis. Can’t go on blabbermouthin’ this ta no one, ya heard?”

“Yes, sir!” Leonis says and he’s got those bright eyes.

“And maybe then I’ll promise not ta let on that Prince Reggie’s got a kiddiewink driving his sorry drunk ass around, hmmm?”

The look on the boy’s face is priceless. All red and nervous.

“Don’t worry. Yer secret’s safe with ol’ Cid. But how’s abouts we have a proper drivin’ lesson fer ya, son. I’ll arrange it.”

“Ok… thanks…. Cid.”

“Don’t mention it. And don’t ya mention what I’m about ta disclose now. This is some real hugger-mugger shit.”

Cid tosses him his brightest smile. And hunkers down to fix the headlight, making himself comfortable as Leonis peers down, all ears.

“So…there I was… damn-near balls deep in a Marlboro swap and this things slicker ‘an snot on a doorknob-"

He talks.

And Cor listens.

And for Cid…

It’s a nice change of pace.

Maybe it’s like having his son back. Or something…

-

They arrange a little trip outside the city limits. Cid’s got Reggie’s car all patched so he wants to take her out for a test drive. And without the narrow city streets…

She breathes.

It’s a godsdamned sexy feeling letting her fly loose on the dirt roads outside Insomnia’s borders. Cid hollers and he hears Reggie laughing in the backseat.

“It’s my car! Why can’t I drive her, old man?”

“You’ll get yer turn, boy!”

Cid cranes his neck to give the Prince a smirk, then turns and sees Cor- window rolled down, in the passenger seat; the kid’s got his head half-stuck out the window, hair blowing; but it’s his face… damn… he’s grinning like they’ve all never seen…

Just like that, huh?

“How’d you do it old man?” The delight is evident in Reggie’s voice.

“What’s that boy?”

“Get Cor to smile.” Regis nudges the young kid’s seat. Cor scrunches his face at him, but turns back to stare out the window.

It hits Cid.

The realization.

That this kid’s probably never seen dirt roads like this…

Air like this.

Never been out of the city.

He speeds up, just to see the wicked glee in Cor’s face.

Then he pulls over and gets out. “Yer turn, boy.”

“What, Cor?” Regis is gobsmacked.

“Really?” Cor stares in disbelief at the steering wheel.

“Gotta learn somehow, now switch with me, son.”

“Hey now! This is my car-”

“Shut it.” Surprisingly it’s Cor. He’s settled into the driver’s seat and he’s ghosting his hands over the wheel like he’s uncertain.

“If ya wanna keep havin’ a designated driver fer yer late night hootenannies I suggest you shut yer trap Reggie.”

The Prince sulks in the back seat.

And they teach him- both of them really.

Cid tells the kid all the gritty details, Regis offers advice on how to maneuver…

And just like that-

Cor learns to drive.

With his Prince in the backseat.

Cid’s grinning ear to ear. Regis is goading the kid, telling him to go faster… faster… no _faster_.

It’s damn irresponsible really.

But hell if Cid doesn’t hoot into the breeze from the open window.

And Cor.

He’s laughing.

He’s listening to their every instruction.

Takes it all in stride.

But damn.

He’s enjoying himself…

After-

They’re all sat out on the dirt. Back's against the red speedster. Cor’s still got his smile still, and it warms Cid’s old curmudgeon’s heart. He didn’t think he’d feel like this again. Like a father figure or something… but the kid brings it out in him.

Reggie’s still moaning that he didn’t get to drive yet.

“Quit yer bellyachin', boy. Who’dya thinks drivin’ us the hell back?”

Regis makes a pouty face. “Oh that would be our boy Cor, wouldn’t it? Your new favorite…” He’s teasing, and hell, it’s good to see him in such youthful spirits. Cid always tries to treat him like a regular youngster. Despite the royalty and all.

“Guess I’m not good enough to impress you, Cid. But our boy Cooor is…” The Prince is kicking dirt up onto Cor’s leg.

“Hey! Easy, Caelum.” The boy glowers. Serious face back like a mask.

“If I recall, you were the one who done near smashed this thing ta bits in yer first day drivin’ her!” Cid derides the young Prince.

“That’s not true… it was the first week… but still-”

“Oh please, boy. If brains were leather, ya wouldn’t done have enough ta saddle a junebug, ya hear!”

“I literally don’t even know what he’s saying.” Cor deadpans.

Regis loses it.

And hell.

Cid can’t keep from bursting out laughing right there on the dirt.

And finally… Cor cracks. The silly little giggle he makes is enough to set the other two off again, and by the end of it Reggie’s nearly rolling in the dirt.

“What?” Cor does his pitiful little laugh again. “I can’t understand what he’s saying… won’t someone tell me… Caelum, tell me what he's saying…”

They make their way back to the city.

The sunset out here is… it takes Cid’s breath away.

Regis drives.

Cor’s asleep in the backseat.

And Cid feels like an old man.

But it’s a damn good feeling.


	5. First Strike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regis orchestrates a mission that brings his retinue one step closer to war. Clarus watches as Cor proves himself in the moment...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! This one took longer for me to conceptualize. I keep fudging with the timeline because it doesnt always add up. So yeah... I've introduced the magitek infantry maybe a bit later than they were supposed to be revealed for the sake of the story. Also the great war is supposed to be little over a month... so I've extended it here. Cor's 14, the age he is when the war starts... but i guess I'll just fudge the timeline to my liking.... it doesn't really make much sense anyway...so yeah  
> enjoy!

They don’t call it war. Not yet. Not while they’ve still got the upper hand.

Regardless, the hard clack of Clarus’s boots on the marble Citadel floors feel like a ticking time bomb as he makes his way to the Crowsguard assembly hall. He’s due to debrief the main squad in five minutes but all he’s got prepared is a missions report from Weskham in his pocket and half a mind to just call the whole thing off.

Because something isn’t sitting well in his gut about this.

Maybe nothing was sitting well with him since the Nifs started popping up bases close to the wall. But this- this _negotiation_ as it was being called, well… if Clarus knew the Nifs, he knew that negotiation was their word for trap. Ever since word of the Lucian troops detaining several of these insurgents- the Niflheim soldiers who suspiciously put up little fight to their capture- King Mors had been attempting to keep the cards in their favor. With the captives being used as bartering tools, the plan was to return them unharmed with the promise that the Imperials would dismantle their bases. Too easy. At least Clarus thinks so. It’s never a simple matter with those sneaky Nif snakes.

And now he has to be the one to prepare the Guard for this half-baked parley. Fucking figures. 

He enters the assembly room in a huff, not quite shaking his skepticism. But, as it turns out, he doesn’t need to debrief anyone. Because Regis is already there, and his plans don’t match the ones of the report in Clarus’s pocket. The bloody idiot.

Clarus just catches the end of Regis’s proposal but it’s enough to let him know that the young Prince appears to have taken the matter into his own hands. The Shield had been feeling worried for his charge lately. Regis hides his anxiety well, but it’s still there, chewing around his edges. And now- well Regis is never one to just sit back and let things fall into place without his say in the matter.

“I’ll prepare a special team, but you all will remain on stand-by. We should be departing for the rendezvous tomorrow morning.” Clarus watches his Prince charm the Guards into whatever crackpot plan was running through his naïve brain.

Shaking his head, he makes a point to intervene. “My Lord, do you intend to meet the Niflheim party yourself? I wasn’t informed of this-”

“Easy, Clar. It’s not like I’d go anywhere without you,” Regis winks. His face a defiant mask. He’s acting like this is his little game. But Clarus doesn’t feel like playing. There’s a squad of Crowsguard looking nervously at the two of them. But no one else has the nerve to second-guess Regis’s input. 

“Has the King approved of this? I thought we planned to send an innocuous troop, send the captives off and see what the Nifs response is-”

“Well I can’t just bloody well sit by can I?” And there it is. That anxiety he can’t hide. Regis still has that brazen look on his face. The one daring Clarus to call his bluff. But the Shield can’t. Not in front of the Guard. Later.

“What’s your plan then?” He can’t really disguise the skepticism in his voice.

“A small escort. I’ll talk shop with the Nif swine, see what it is they’re really playing at, face-to-face. My father may be of a mind to underestimate the scum, but I can’t sit idly by. I need to see it. See what they’re up to.” There’s passionate fervor in the Prince’s voice. Clarus can see it now. That this whole thing is weighing too heavy on Regis’s shoulders. It’s eating at him. Knowing that his father is pushing himself with the efforts of the wall. The Prince is young, only nineteen. He’s careless, naïve, but still… He needs this. Needs to do _something_. So Clarus lets him.

“This escort… who do you have in mind?” He sees a thing like relief in Regis’s slouching shoulders. It’s not Clarus’s duty to call him out on what may be mistakes in the making. It’s his duty to have his back when said mistakes threaten to backfire on him. The true burden of a Shield.

“You, of course, up front with me,” Regis starts. He nods to a row of soldiers. “A handful of Guard to oversee the captives. I’ll want Weskham on hand; he’s good with reading faces, sensing lies.” Regis is using his leader voice. The one that captivates those witnessing him. “I want to keep this thing as direct as possible. No pomp and circumstance. This isn’t our ancestor’s game anymore. It’s real and it’s changing fast. So I want my best with me when the shit hits the fan. We’ll need to restrain ourselves, Clarus. No first strike. Not from us. I want you and Wes both by my side. And Cor. I want Cor with me too.”

That causes a stir. It’s only then that Clarus notices his young friend amongst the guards, hung back by the corner, unassuming. He can’t read the look on Cor’s face, but those around him are giving him heated glances.

A Guard at Clarus’s side voices his uncertainty. “Sir, with all due respect, Crowsguard Leonis is unqualified for a mission of this magnitude. His rank-”

“Irrelevant,” Regis is stoic. He turns to look at Cor, a dark shadow in the corner. “Lieutenant Leonis. You’ve been promoted. I want you on my squad tomorrow morning, alright?”

Cor just nods. “Yes sir.”

It doesn’t matter… his rank… his lack of experience. Regis sees something in the kid, and Clarus can’t help but see it too. It’s no small thing, breaking protocol for him, giving him a Lieutenant’s status. Regardless of the fact the boy’s just turned fourteen. If Regis is set on bringing him along for the mission… well Clarus knew Cor would be the first one in the armored truck tomorrow morning.

“That’s settled then.” Dismissing the rest of the Guard with a wave of his hand, Regis departs. If Clarus knows him then there’s a good chance he’d find his Prince later, pacing some corridor, not able to sit still… frantic… anxious.

And hell… Clarus feels the buzz of anxiety too. But underneath, there’s something… maybe like excitement. They’ve been so dormant lately. So afraid to make their move. Maybe this would change things. For better or worse. The Nif bases couldn’t be ignored. Regis was right.

He feels a presence at his side. Most of the Guard have already gone, but the shadow is familiar. “Is this it then?”

Clarus doesn’t need Cor to clarify. He knows they both can sense the shifting tides.

“If it’s war to come, best not sit around ignoring it. Bring your best diplomat face tomorrow, kid. Can’t have you spoiling our negotiation with those death glares of yours.” Clarus doesn’t look at him. But Cor stands resolute.

“You still think this is gonna be a negotiation, sir?”

“Hmph. Unlikely.”

“So does my face really matter then?”

“You heard what Regis said. If looks could kill, we can kiss away our first strike.” He chuckles.

“One look at your ugly mullet and they might just open fire-”

“Oi! Easy there _Lieutenant_.”

“Apologies, sir.”

-

The mission goes as shit as Clarus could have expected. Maybe more so.

Yeah… definitely more so…

Sitting in the back of the truck, he catches himself studying the young newly-ranked Lieutenant. Cor’s smooshed between Weskham and another Crownsguard. He keeps his face a cool mask. No signs of outward anxiety. Fourteen and on an official mission. The kid was brave. It’s enough to settle the apprehension Clarus has brewing in his own stomach.

They arrive at the base and it’s all evident now- this whole thing is just for show.

The Niflheim base is sparse, a main unit surrounded by smaller stations and Imperial trucks, with a backdrop of trees behind it. Still- the location… a few miles from the western reaches of Lucis’s wall. It’s too close for comfort.

Regis makes to exit the vehicle but surprisingly, it’s Cor’s hand that stops him, holds him back.

“Wait for them to come out first. See how many they send.” Cor gives his advice like a seasoned vet. Not some kid who looked like he got on the wrong bus at a field-trip. It would be humorous, his audacity, Clarus thinks, if they weren’t so on edge.

Regis abides and they watch as two Niflheim officers appear at the gate.

“Hmm. Low-level. One on the left’s a rifleman. Don’t open the truck until they signal it.” Again, it’s Cor giving a running commentary on the mission. Clarus watches him eyeing the scene, binoculars adjusting, face scrunching. He’s confidant, and it take Clarus aback.

“Something odd about him though…” Cor leans closer to the window. “Hold tight til they approach.”

Clarus smirks. It’s cute, really. His playing at authority.

“Have the captives ready,” Regis motions to the Guard behind him. They had six Niflheim detainees locked up in the back. Not a word spoken the entire time. Too silent. Something about them just…doesn’t sit well Clarus. 

“They don’t know that it’s you? Coming to negotiate. Do they?” Cor doesn’t look at Regis when he speaks, still scrutinizing the base.

“No, but I plan to seek out the highest official to see if we can arrange this _negotiation_ after all.”

“Don’t.” Cor says. He’s so abrupt he doesn’t even check himself. “It’s not in their figures. We’ll use it to catch them off guard. See what they’d do if they didn’t know we had the Prince with us. I can see now…” he scans the scene, intensely. “The main unit of the base is a decoy. See… there… the tall one keeps checking the woods. Rifleman’s stiff though. They’re guarding something behind the tree line. Look.” Cor hands his binoculars to Clarus and the Shield surveys for his quarry. He thinks he sees something stirring in the background, like some of the trees have been cleared in a spot behind the base.

“Cor’s right. Sit tight, Reggie. They might be prepping for an attack without even negotiating.” Clarus is grim.

Finally, the taller of the two officers makes his way to the gate. He talks over speaker, a cold, nasally voice.

“Are you here to return the captured soldiers?”

“No we’re just here for a fucking vacation… astrals…” Clarus mutters under his breath.

Weskham stirs. “Perhaps I should go out to talk? In your stead…”

Regis seems unsure. The look on his face makes Clarus think that he’s just now realizing that this whole thing might have been a huge mistake. He’s in over his head. They all are. The Prince is about to answer when-

“I’ll go.” It’s Cor. Of course.

“What? Hell no! Sit your ass down!” Clarus is exasperated. “You’re just a kid, Cor.”

“It can’t be you. They’ll know who you are. You’re the Prince’s Shield. Chances are they’ll know his whole retinue. Send me. Just to see if they’ll even talk.” Cor’s reasoning is so calmly stated, Clarus is left blinking down at him stupidly.

“Why do you think you’d be a better option-”

“I’m inconspicuous. Right?”

Before Clarus can even argue-

Cor pops up from his seat, swiftly grabbing the handle and climbing out of the truck.

“Astrals sake!” The Shield makes to grab him back in, but he’s quick. Shuts the door, almost catching Clarus’s arm in his haste.

Regis is pulling his hair in his hands, eyes wide. “Well that just happened.”

“Yeah.” Clarus slumps against the window watching the stupid punk and hoping for all the Astrals’ worth that he didn’t just allow his friend to go off and get killed. “Fucking brat.”

Cor decisively walks to the gate. Clarus has to hand it to the kid, he has confidence. Maybe too much. Hell, _definitely_ too much.

From this distance, the party in the truck can’t make out words. Clarus sees Cor address the taller officer. He nods back to the truck a few times, but he’s keeping a fair distance. The Shield is glad they had the foresight to bring hidden weapons. A precaution. But now- seeing the concealed lump of the gun under Cor’s jacket, he feels reassured. Only slightly though…

“No first strike kid…” Clarus mutters to himself.

“Trust our boy Cor to uphold a command.” There’s a nervous laughter in Regis’s voice.

“Is it just me, or did we let a fourteen year old hijack our mission?” Wes doesn’t hide his disbelief.

Clarus snorts.

Cor’s talking with the officer still. It’s very detached, and Clarus can’t help but feel nervous. Then, the younger boy turns his head to the truck. Its slight- the subtle maneuver he does with his hands. Two fingers tapped twice against his forehead. But Clarus catches it and he knows what it means. Abort mission.

“ _Fuck_.”

“What’s happening?” Regis is breathing down his neck.

“It’s no good. I’m grabbing him then we need to fucking haul ass-” Clarus is crouching by the door of the truck, bracing to just leap out and run to Cor. His hand is on the release but then-

Several things happen.

In the span of a heartbeat maybe.

The Nif officer, the rifleman…

His arm swings, pulling up his weapon…

Clarus lunges forward, slamming the truck door open…

There’s a slight pause. Then-

_Bang!_

A shot rings out.

It’s loud. Sharp.

Clarus feels his heart in his throat.

He’s running…

Running so fast….

 _Cor_. Gods… Cor…

There’s not even a second between the first gunshot and-

_Bang._

A second.

Clarus can’t see it… what’s happening…

He didn’t see the rifleman make his shot- and miss. Cor ducks the round easily, crouching to the floor. And before the Nifs can register it, he pulls his weapon from his jacket and reciprocates. He doesn’t miss.

The thud of the dead rifleman hitting the pavement sounds even louder in Clarus’s ears. But it’s the only thing that grounds him. The only thing he can focus on as he storms toward the gate… there’s something buzzing all around him now… he can’t focus on it… he feels a shift in the air… like something’s about to burst… he can’t think…just… grabs Cor and pulls him to the ground, slamming into the concrete… calls his great-shield from the armory… covers them both… the noise now… it’s intense… getting louder. Still. He can’t shake the echo of the dead Nif’s body. It sounded… too loud, too hard… maybe…he can’t think…

Cor pulls out of his hold… just briefly. Firing off one shot. He’s yelling something in Clarus’s ear, but its white noise. He feels the world darken-

And that’s when Clarus finally registers it. There’s an Imperial dropship blocking out the sun. It’s looming over them. The buzzing… he feels sharp pelting against his shield. They’re firing at him and Cor.

The kid’s still yelling at him. This time Clarus picks out a few words. “…a setup from the start…didn’t even try to hide…astrals… not human… they’re _not human_.”

“What!?” the last bit causes confusion for the Shield.

Cor huddles closer under his protection. Thank gods his shield was fucking massive. The younger boy grips him hard on the shoulder. “The riflemen. He wasn’t human.” Clarus hears him fully this time. But it still doesn’t make any sense to him.

He doesn’t find the time to sort out his confusion because-

Just then… the assault craft lands and out from it… dozens of Imperial soldiers… they storm out onto the courtyard.

Clarus doesn’t think- he just grabs Cor, wrenches them both upright… and fucking runs as fast as he can to the truck.

“They didn’t even care about the captives… now I get it…” Cor’s voice is frantic even amongst the loud sounds of open fire. “I shot him… and… fuck… he wasn’t bleeding… he wasn’t… Astrals, Clarus, he wasn’t human… none of them are. Look…” Clarus can’t afford to be distracted. They’re still several paces from the truck, dodging bullets with his shield. But he sticks his head out just enough-

He sees an Imperial trooper closing in on them. There are several of them blocking their way to freedom. The rest seem to be focusing their efforts on the truck now. Praise the Astrals it was protected by Regis’s armor magic. But Clarus can’t avoid the situation right in front of them. The soldier narrows in on them, firing incessantly. It’s clinical. There’s no hesitation. Clarus kneels, bracing Cor against his side, fingers blindly reaching for the gun under his shirt. Gods. He’s fumbling. So panicky. But Cor is there, he pulls out his weapon and peeks out his head to survey his enemy. Clarus watches him. Cold, hard calculation. He ought to feel guilty- Cor’s never killed before… he’s just a kid really… But Gods… the way he handles himself-

Cor shoots down the trooper and Clarus knows he hits his mark by the loud crashing thud. The body. Like the rifleman.

“They’re fucking machines or something. Astrals… Have you ever seen Nifs like these… fuck…” Cor sounds perturbed. It strains his young voice, nearly cracking it. It still doesn’t distract him from his scrupulous attacks. Another hit. Another. Clarus’s knees are starting to hurt. They need to make it to the truck… still a few more feet…

Suddenly there’s an Imperial at his side, breaching the barrier of his shield. Clarus doesn’t hesitate-

He summons his best sword from the armory and stabs the bastard through. It’s then that he can really see it- what Cor was talking about.

The blade penetrates what would be the rib-cage of the soldier. Only- there’s no blood leaking out, no flesh squelching under the sword’s pressure.

Clarus sees ribbons of… cables… wires… he isn’t sure… under metal… layers like armor.

He isn’t human.

“Astrals… Fuck.” _What is happening…_

“There’s an opening… move… now!” Cor’s pulling him forward, but the soldier is still skewered to his sword. He drags along with him. Heavy. Too heavy.

They’re approaching truck now. Clarus sees Regis’s worried face. They open the door for them, beckoning them forward. Clarus still can’t drop his sword. He knows he can just replace it, but hell. The metal body still clings to it. He just lets them both drop. Fuck it. But Cor bends down, grabs not the sword- but the soldier.

“What’re you-”

“Throw it in the back… move it!” Cor hauls the thing up and slams it into the truck, then drags himself in behind it. Clarus is dumbfounded. But then there’s the sounds of gunfire again and he throws himself into the truck without second thought.

As soon as they’re in, the truck starts speeding away. Damn fast. Clarus can’t catch his breath. He can’t tell if it’s his own heartbeat he hears… or Cor’s… or the gunfire… astrals… he’s jumpy. 

“What was that? _What was that?!_ ” Regis voices his own thoughts. 

“That there was your negotiation, sir.” Cor’s breathing harshly. He’s slumped against Clarus, both leaning against the truck door, panting.

“Fuck.” Clarus drags a hand up his face.

“What is this thing? A machine... I don’t-” Weskham is studying the dead Nif soldier. The one Cor decided to bring as a souvenir.

“They’re not human.” Cor says. He sounds like he’s accepted it now. Clarus still can’t.

“So what…. The Nifs are creating artificial solders…?” Regis sounds panicked. “I can’t believe… this whole thing was a trap from the start… they didn’t even want their captives back… they’ve got these... these robot soldiers… _astrals_ …”

Clarus doesn’t know how to console him. Instead he just grunts. “Things are changing. That’s for sure.”

“So… what now… what…” Regis pulls at his hair. “Gods… it’s started hasn’t it. War.”

“I’m afraid so sir.” Cor sighs heavily.

“Fuck me…” Clarus knocks his head against the window. Then he turns to see Cor next to him. The kid’s keeping his composure well, but fuck… Clarus remembers how he just ran out there, caution to the wind. What was he thinking?

He’s suddenly furious.

The Shield grabs the younger boy by the arm. “The fuck was that, Leonis? Huh? You think you can just prance around like you please, mission be damned?” He’s shaking him now.

“You never said I couldn’t talk to them-”

“You could’ve got yourself killed, you stupid kid! Do you understand that? This isn’t your fucking playground boy! This is serious. Now more than ever. If you ever break orders again-”

“I didn’t though.”

Clarus stops shaking him just enough to settle him with his most menacing look.

“Break orders, that is. I let them have the first strike.”

“You little-”

“Enough!” Regis intercedes. “There’s no sense arguing about a mission that couldn’t be won. The Nifs had every intention of just cutting us down, no questions asked. Probably would’ve killed their own men too… fuck… what are we gonna do with the captives...? And now… these metal soldiers… astrals…seeing as Cor supplied us with one of the specimens I suppose we’ll bring it back to the Citadel for research…” Regis sounds far older than his nineteen years.

Clarus loosens his grip on Cor’s arm, and instead settles it around the kid’s shoulders.

“You’ve got fucking nerve kid. Grabbing that soldier…some fucking stunt… astrals…”

“I figured you’d want your sword back too…”

Clarus eyes the body of the… whatever it was. His sword is still caught in the chest of it, wires sticking out. He grabs it. The blade pulls out from the carnage. Undamaged despite the harsh metal. It’s a good sword.

Without thinking, he tosses it into Cor’s lap.

“It’s yours kid.”

“Huh?”

“Keep it.”

“Really?”

“With war coming, let’s see how many first strikes you can make with this baby.”

“That a challenge?”

“Only if you’re worthy.”

Clarus decides that he is.

In that moment… and hell…. all the moments to come. Cor’s only fourteen, but… today… he showed his true self.

The boy hadn’t known the soldier was artificial when he shot… struck him down… killed him quick…

It may not have been a human life… but it was still Cor’s first kill. Stuff like that could get to you. Clarus knows it.

But Cor…

It occurs to Clarus that the kid might actually thrive in the landscape of war. Hearing him today, barking out commentary like he fucking knew the whole show… no hesitation as he put himself on the line…

He’s a leader, Clarus thinks…

Yeah…

A natural born leader.

He might even become a legend.

If he could make it through what was to come…


	6. Bloodstains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regis and his crew start fighting the MTs, watching as Cor seems unbeatable in battle. Only... they realize firsthand that Cor is far from immortal...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!! major warning for graphic depictions of injury in this one !!! Just a heads up! It's pretty grisly....
> 
> Yeah. I enjoyed writing a chapter where Cor isn't some god-like warrior. He gets hurt. Because everybody does. A bit heavy of a chapter... maybe the next ones will be lighter... who knows~  
> Enjoy!

For Regis, the MTs give him something to focus on. It’s new, this threat. It gives him the motivation he needs, gives him purpose.

They go on like this: Regis forms a special squad, for tracking down, gathering intel, fighting in the field. Now that he’s twenty, no one really questions his authority. It’s not even his prince status, it’s his drive. Everyone can see it. Since the failed mission, bringing back the mysterious non-human soldier, the first of many, Regis makes it his aim to not let the tides of war sweep him and the rest of Lucis away without a struggle. Even though most days, he feels like they’re already drowning.

It helps that his squad seems to be just as riled up as he is. Regalia Squad, after his car of all things, the project he entrusted to the older mechanic. It’s the Prince, his Shield, Weskham, Cid and Cor. Regis knows he needs people he can count on, people he can trust. These men- gods… men… Cor is still just a boy… they all feel the tension, like an explosion that’s just been building… building… not knowing when it will burst. It’s like the Wall, Regis thinks, the focus of effort that his father carries, the one that makes him weaker by the day. Will it all just come crashing down…? Is this what it feels like before… the calm… the crash… the end…?

Regis can’t let that get to him. It’s his burden now too. This war. He carries the weight of Lucis on his shoulders as, day after day, he commits himself to the role he’s chosen. The beacon of peace… or something. Clarus would make fun of him for it. Cid and Wes would think he’s pushing himself too far, too thin. Cor… well… If Regis is a beacon of peace then Cor is the match that keeps the flame from snuffing out.

Cor, who’s just a kid… he becomes a soldier when Lucis requires it, a leader when no one asks, and a friend… when Regis really needs it.

The boy takes it all to heart, it seems. The mission failing. The magitek soldiers, as they’ve come to understand what their new threat was called. Cor had joined Regis examining the body of the captured MT. The both of them… pouring over it… racking their brains… They couldn’t figure out what powered them. What functions certain parts were capable of. It seemed half-human. And that’s what frightened Regis the most. The fact that under metal and wires… there was something living but not living. A twisted caricature. 

“This will be the death of us all, won’t it?” Regis must have said.

“No sir.” Cor must have sounded so sure.

The body… if it could be called that… was a cold, hard picture of just how insecure Regis was feeling.

“We’ll fight, and we’ll keep going. Cuz we’ve got blood in our veins. We bleed and they don’t. What does this clump of metal have to bleed for anyway?”

Regis doesn’t answer. Because he doesn’t have to.

The solution to his insecurity is to just get on with it.

So he does. They all do.

Regalia Squad, they get a kind of reputation. First to respond to calls of distress. Never failing to subdue the damage. The Nifs have taken to setting their new MTs out on the border towns. It’s all Regis can do… take them out, as much as he can… before they reach the Wall… before it all comes falling down…

They bleed for it, because they’re able to. The first scuffle, a small town outside of Leide, Regis takes a hit to his arm, a deep gash from the sword of one of the Magitek soldiers. He watches the red slide down his arm, dripping down his pant leg. It pushes him.

The pain… it makes it all worth it… maybe…

After-

Regis sits down and surveys the carnage. They had been outnumbered by the Imperial troops, but regardless, they were able to overcome them. He feels the wake of the battle wash over him. 

Clarus comes to his side, dissolving his massive sword back into the armory. “You alright, Reg?” He’s got blood on his face, a small cut in his hairline.

“Mmm.” Regis can’t say more than that. Still processing it all. He looks behind him. Cid and Wes are piling up the bodies of the mechanical soldiers. They hadn’t known what to do with the remains…

“You did good.” Clarus plops down next to him.

“We all did.” And it’s true. Despite their disadvantages, their lack of experience, Regis’s squad took down the threat. The Prince curls his hand around the wound on his arm.

“You hurt? Here lemme take a look-” Clarus bends forward and Regis watches him examine the injury.

The young Prince leans back, still eyeing his other two companions, their pile of soldiers a kind of macabre sculpture, and he lets Clarus clean and bind his gash. The blood…

His blood.

Lucis’s blood.

He feels it in the spaces between his fingernails… it gives him… _hope?_ … something… he doesn’t know.

Maybe Cor was right.

He sees the kid now, sitting off to the side, legs crossed, back straight. He’s got his sword in his hands and he looks like he’s cleaning it. Regis smirks. The MT’s don’t bleed. But maybe Cor needs that moment… that post-violence reckoning, the one they’re all having… to just reflect on things.

“Our boy Cor really stepped up today, hm?” Clarus reaches in the bag at his side and hands Regis a potion.

Half of him wants to refuse. They’re pretty limited on supplies and something about the pain grounds him. He takes it, but just rolls it around in his hands.

“Yeah. You had any doubts?” The potion is cool to the touch. It glows faintly.

“Pshh. Nah. Just worried a bit. He’s so young. But I don’t think he’s got a scratch on him. Damn untouchable.” Clarus sounds pensive.

Their young friend showed no hesitation that day. In the midst of battle, Regis had lost track of him. But Cor was there, a constant force, cutting down the troopers with his sword. The one Clarus gave him. Regis feels something like pride in his chest. But also… something else.

“Yeah. He’s young. But he’ll grow up fast in no time.” And that’s what it is. _Regret_. He feels regretful for taking a boy and forcing him to be a soldier. Cor wouldn’t see it that way. But Regis does. He sees that, little by little, the boy Cor could have been, should have been… is being swallowed by violence. Cor is a fighter. A killer now. Because did he really have a choice?

Did any of them?

Regis puts the potion aside. Saves it for later.

Because they need it later.

The fighting… it escalates.

Day after day… the magitek troops are multiplying. It’s too much.

Wes takes a bad hit in a fight outside Longwythe. Cid nearly collapses after a long day fighting. Even Clarus… he breaks his ribs after a bad fall near the mountainside.

They’re bleeding.

Because they can.

Because they’re supposed to.

But Cor…

Regis watches Cor fight and gods… the kid must have some kind of self-preservation magic or something…

He never takes a hit.

It becomes a joke really.

After combat, they’re all sweaty, bloody, panting. But there’s Cor, cleaning his sword, almost relaxed.

“You on dope or somethin’, kid?” Cid chuckles.

“What’s that?” Cor doesn’t look up from his ministrations. Firm hands brushing a cloth along the edge of the blade.

“Oh please, Cid. As if this little model soldier would be toking up before a fight. Slows you down if anything. You would know. ” Regis nudges the mechanic with his dirty boot.

“Cid’s just worried that someone might’ve found his little secret stash.” Weskham smirks.

“The hell you on about, boy?! You acusin’ be of bein’ a no good smackhead or somethin’? _Stash_. Yeah right…”

“Oh there’s a stash.” Cor says matter-of-factly.

Regis cackles. “I knew it!” Even Cor can’t hide the tug of his lips as he still pretends to clean his blood-less sword.

“See, Cor doesn’t need that kinda shit anyway.” Clarus offers. “He’s got the power of youth on his side.”

“Acghk! Youth!” Cid spits. “Overrated!”

“Says you, ya old coot!” Clarus sticks his chin out at him. “Thought you were gonna bust a hip out there. I swear I could hear your achy back over the sound of gunfire. And then there’s Cor- picture of youth, not even breaking a sweat. Gods. Put him on a recruitment poster, Reg. That’ll incite some patriotism for our sorry little state.”

“You’re not getting me to do a photoshoot.” Cor deadpans.

“Pshhh! Yeah you’re right kid. Damn face of yours would feel more like a PSA against the dangers of bullying-”

“Shut it, Amicitia!”

“Oof! He can take a hit!”

“No I know what Cor’s secret is.” Regis relishes the moment.

“Oh yeah, what’s that then?” Weskham leans his head on his knees, appraising their teenage friend.

Regis pauses for dramatic effect.

“He’s immortal.”

“Psshh! Yeah. That makes sense though.” Clarus slaps a hand on Cor’s back.

“Lay off would you.”

“No I’m serious!” Regis laughs. “You haven’t taken a single hit, while the rest of us are here dragging our sorry asses out of battle looking chewed up. The kid must be immortal!”

“Hey, your secret’s safe with us. But spread some of that immortal juice this way if you could.” Wes teases.

“Oh please.” Cor grumbles.

“Immortal!” Cid barks. “Yeah. ‘Cept the kicker is that he’s stuck lookin’ like a stretched out toddler fer all eternity!”

“Yeah Cor. How long have you been fourteen anyway? Hmmm? How old are you really underneath all that puberty?” Regis tickles his side and Cor frantically tries to pull away.

“Oi! Back off Caelum! I’m not fuckin’ immortal you stupid ass!”

“Sure Cor!” But Regis keeps his little joke.

Teases him about it til Cor’s red in the face.

Because maybe it makes him feel better about the situation.

Because he knows Cor’s not really immortal... or impervious… or bullet-proof…

They find that out all too soon…

Lucis had set up a base of sorts near the western reaches of the Wall. The Nifs had been encroaching on it more and more. Too close.

Regis and his squad had been sent to handle a skirmish near the border. They ride the Regalia. It’s becoming their routine. Drive together from the base. Handle small situations on their own, without overextending the limited capacity of their own military. For the most part they can take care of themselves. Resources were running low. But Regalia Squad was known for being able to hold themselves together. It’s why Regis wanted to form it. So he could take matters into his own hand.

But the fight-

It quickly gets out of hand.

What was initially just a small troop of MTs becomes an ambush. Troops of Imperials start raining down on them from an assault craft that no one had accounted for.

“There’s too many! Fall back!” Regis cries. He can see Wes ducking for cover as their enemies encompass on them. He grabs him and Cid and pulls them behind a rock. They’re all panting hard. The Prince can barely see with all the dust in the air. But then-

Cor surges forward. Swinging that damn sword. The one that never sees blood. He just cuts through the line of soldiers. Like its nothing.

“Cor!” Regis shouts but it goes on deaf ears.

Cor is determined to see them all fall.

And by gods…

Regis sees Clarus assisting him. The bigger man takes out a row with his greatsword. Cor relies on the Shield’s strength and uses it to gain advantage against the tide of Imperials.

They’re back to back. Playing off each other in a twisted rhythm. From his viewpoint behind the rocks, Regis watches as his friends pull the battle back into their favor.

It’s really something.

The two of them. So different in stature and fighting techniques. But they move and it works. They cut down the enemy one by one. Clarus pulls forward, taking out an MT rifleman before he can shoot. He motions to Cor and the boy understands. Cor runs off to beyond a ditch, where a few stragglers had attempted to regroup behind the battlefield. They make quick work of it.

Regis emerges from his hiding place to see Clarus plunge his sword into the chest of the damnable MT.

“Well that was quite a show.” He whistles.

Clarus huffs swiping at his sweaty hair indignantly, but he smiles. “Fucking Cor man. Kid just doesn’t know when to quit, eh?”

“Well it looked like you two handled this all on your own.” Regis doesn’t even feel embarrassed. It’s a miracle they were able to overcome the Imperials.

Distantly he hears the sound of Cor’s sword taking out the final soldier. He calls to him “You done, Cor? Or do you still wanna play around with that sword of yours some more?”

“Kid’s damn impressive, I’ve got to admit.” Clarus takes the rag that Weskham offers him and runs it over his face.

Regis is trying to peer over the rock face to see what Cor was doing behind the ditch.

“C’mon Cor. Let’s get back to the car and get the hell out of here already!” Regis is impatient.

Cid begins picking up the discarded weapons from the dead soldiers. Low resources. They would take whatever they could get.

“Oi! Cor! What gives?” Clarus shouts.

There’s still no answer.

Regis huffs and runs over to the rock wall that’s blocking his view. When he turns around it and sees Cor standing next to an upright MT, he gets confused.

“The hell kid, you taking your sweet time killing that thing? Just get over with it.”

The MT and Cor are awfully close, looking like they were embracing. But from what Regis can see, Cor’s sword is sticking through its chest and the body isn’t moving. Must be dead already then.

When Cor still doesn’t respond, Regis feels… something… creeping into his chest…

“Cor?” It’s Clarus this time, peeking over the rock wall.

And then-

There’s a small choking sound. And Cor starts to fall, still clung to the MT. Regis surges forward but-

The boy collapses in the dirt, and the body of the soldier is on top of him.

“Cor?!” Regis can’t hide the panic in his voice. He reaches his fallen friend and is frantically trying to pull the body off him.

“Astrals! What happened? Is he hurt?” Clarus barrels over.

“Cor…?” Regis is still trying to shift the MT but for some reason… it won't budge…he yanks at it harshly… that’s when-

“AAAAGGHHH!” The most horrible sound. Cor’s scream is so loud in Regis’s ear that he nearly falls back. Gods. That sound. He’d never heard a sound like that… from Cor…

“Oh gods… _oh gods_ … Cor what’s wrong… what-” But then, he sees it. Sees why he can’t budge the dead soldier’s body off his friend’s chest.

Because…

The arm of the MT… it’s latched itself… plunging into flesh…

The soldier’s arm is buried into Cor’s abdomen. 

“ _Oh gods.._.”

Cor is scrunching his face in pain, choking on a cry.

“What the fuck?!” Clarus is at Regis’s side, staring down in disbelief.

“Cor… oh gods… Cor… you’re gonna be alright… _fuck_ …” Regis lays his hand on Cor’s head. His other is still hooked around the body of the MT, but he doesn’t want to try budging it again.

“Mmmng.. he… fuck…he just…hnmgg.. he grabbed me… I don’t… fuck… I don’t know what happened… _fuck_...” Cor pants around his agony. Regis rubs circles into his hair, not knowing what to do.

“Cid!” Clarus barks. It’s almost as loud as Cor’s scream. “Get the car! _Quick!_ We need to get help!”

It appears that Cid doesn’t need more than that. The mechanic takes one look at what had happened behind the rock wall and runs as fast as he can in the direction of the Regalia. Weskham joins Regis and Clarus at Cor’s side, looking sick.

“What happened?”

“Looks like this thing’s kinda… latched itself… to Cor… Astrals… I didn’t... fuck I didn’t know they could do that…” Regis hates the way his voice sounds. But he hates even more the sound that Cor makes. A kind of low moaning, hitched between shaking breaths.

“Just breathe Cor. We’ll get you help.” Gods... he hopes so.

“We have to remove it somehow-” Clarus bends over the two twined bodies.

“No. He might bleed out.” Weskham says.

“At least the body part… maybe if we sever the arm. He won’t fit in the car with the MT stuck to him.” Clarus is right.

“Gods… Cor… we’re gonna try to take this weight off you alright… hang tight…” Regis shuffles to the side as Clarus gathers the bulk of the body in his arms. Even that movement is enough to set Cor off. The kid growls low. Grinds his teeth in an attempt to hold in his cries.

“It’s ok… hold on Cor… just gonna cut the arm off… then we can get you outta here… Regis hold him down.” Clarus’s voice is surprisingly gentle. But it isn’t enough to stave of the torture he’s about to commit.

Regis places his hands on Cor’s shoulders just as-

Clarus tries to be smooth, but he can’t get the MT off without hacking his sword into the arm. It sends jolts down the kid’s body and Regis has to use all his strength to keep Cor from jostling too much. His back arches painfully. He’s screaming again too. The sound is horrific. But Clarus manages to sever the body and dump it to the side. Cor is still convulsing, legs digging in the dusty dirt and then Wes is there, pushing them down, holding him steady.

“Aagghh… fuck... mmngg… fuck me…” Cor can barely form words. He’s still shaking violently.

“I’m sorry kid… I’m so sorry…” Regis feels hollow inside. Now that the bulk of the MT was off his form, the Prince gets a better look at his injury. And… gods…

The severed arm is poking out of Cor’s uniform. Right into his abdomen. Its… gods… it’s so… wrong. There’s a puddle of blood forming in the dirt.

No.

It’s so wrong.

It can’t be…

Blood…

Cor’s blood.

Regis feels like he might be sick.

Cor convulses again and it’s clear that the movement just makes the mess in his belly so much worse. He makes a sound like an animal… an animal dying… it’s all so wrong…

“Cor. Hang tight.” Clarus sounds calm. But when he meets Regis’s eye, there’s stone-cold terror behind it.

The sound of the Regalia blazing around the corner is music to Regis’s ears. Thank the gods…

“Reg, you grab his arms. We’ll carry him into the back seat. Nice and steady.” Clarus still pretends he’s calm.

But he isn’t.

Neither is Regis.

Because Cor’s bleeding out.

Cor… who was supposed to be immortal…

He’s bleeding... through a hole in his stomach…

The base is miles away…

They have no potions…

And Cor is bleeding.

Regis bends down, curls his hands under Cor’s arms… ignores the sounds he makes… pulls him up… carries him to the car… the sounds… gods he’s whimpering… dripping… dripping blood….gods….not Cor…

Regis can’t focus.

He’s in the backseat now, holding his young friend against his chest. Cid is driving faster than he’s ever seen. Clarus keeps turning his head back from the passenger seat, frantic. Wes is crouching on the floor by Cor’s legs, a hand on his thigh, keeping him steady, trying to talk to him.

Regis feels like he’s gonna be sick.

He feels Cor shaking. Feels a wetness seeping onto his pants… its warm… it’s… it’s all wrong…

His uncertain hands ghost over the thing in his friend’s gut… the MT arm… plugging him up but killing him at the same time… Regis doesn’t know what to do.

They hit a bump in the road and gods-

Cor _screams_.

Regis might be screaming too. Clarus is yelling something. Cid goes faster.

Weskham is still trying to calm Cor down, almost whispering, hands rubbing gently on his thrashing legs.

“Shhh… almost there… we’re almost there Cor…”

But are they? Regis doesn’t know. All he knows is that he can’t look down. Can’t look to see the puddle of blood that’s seeping onto the leather seats. Can’t look down to see blue eyes wide and filled with terror. All he can do is hold on… cradle Cor’s form as the kid writhes through spasms of violent agony.

It becomes a sick little repetition. Cor moans in circles. Slow at first, than gathering louder… than slow again…

He’s riding the waves. And so is Regis. Only it’s getting worse each time. Until-

Regis feels Cor spasm in his arms then he turns, digging his elbow into the Prince’s side, scrambling and-

He’s retching, making awful sounds, coughing and gasping.

“Cor… gods… it’s ok… you’re gonna be ok…” Regis rubs his back, fumbles with his fingers in his hair… doesn’t know what to do.

The boy keeps gagging and it’s so fucking horrible Regis just wants it all to stop…

It’s too much…

“Cid.” Weskham speaks so calmly. But the mechanic gets it. He pushes the Regalia so hard it feels like she might come apart.

And then Regis sees…

The vomit that he feels dripping on his own legs. It’s red.

Blood. Cor was spitting up blood.

“ _Oh gods_ …” It’s Cor. Speaking the horror of his own agony. He flops onto Regis’s chest again and the Prince sees red staining his mouth, dribbling down his face… his young face… gods… he’s just a kid…

Cor collapses. Silent. Unmoving.

Regis thinks he feels his own heart stop.

“ _Is he gonna die?_ ” He voices it. Finally. Because it’s the thing they’ve all been thinking.

Wes stares intently at him, no answer behind his stark eyes.

“Is he gonna die? Is Cor gonna die?!” Regis feels the shock building in his voice.

“We’re almost there.” It’s the first Cid’s spoken since they set off. It’s still not enough to settle Regis’s terror.

“C-cor… Cor… c’mon…” The young prince is shaking his friend. He’s hysterical now. Distantly, he notices Wes leaning forward feeling for his wrist.

“Cid.” Wes says again. In that calm voice. That _calm fucking_ … fucking voice that Regis can’t… Regis can’t understand… how is he calm?! When Cor… Cor is…

“No! Astrals! Fuck! _Cor!_ Come on! Faster… please Cid! Faster! Come on…” Regis is aware that he’s crying. He can’t help it. He’s still shaking Cor. Cor who isn’t moving. Maybe isn’t breathing… no… he has to…

Has to breathe.

Has to be ok.

He has to…

They just make it.

Cor is carried off to the base, Clarus grabbing him in his arms, fucking running to the emergency hospital… leaving a trail of blood in his wake…

Blood.

Cor’s blood.

Regis feels it on his own hands. Between his own fingernails. Cor’s blood.

He watches as they prepare surgery on Cor’s body… not body… Cor… he’s still Cor… not a body yet…

He feels Cid’s hand on his shoulder, pulling him down into a chair… to wait… Wes paces the hallway… Regis sees the tear tracks on his dark face now… he was good at hiding it… but not now…

Clarus has his arms wrapped around his head, looking like he’s trying to squeeze whatever the fuck just happened out of his skull, out of his memory forever…

But Regis knows none of them will forget this.

Never.

And after-

Regis is at Cor’s bedside, tracing a pattern into the palm of the kid’s outstretched hand. So young. His hand. No lines. Soft.

Gods.

He’s a kid.

A kid who almost… died… _fuck_ …

A kid Regis almost killed.

Yeah. It was him. _He_ almost murdered the kid. Was still murdering him. Because every drop of blood the kid bled… that was on _him_. Cor Leonis couldn’t be a boy because of him. He’d murdered him.

“Quit scowling. You’re starting to look like me…” The voice is hoarse, but not unkind.

“Cor!” Regis blinks down at the face that’s now trying it’s hardest to keep its eyes open. The Prince sits down on the bed next to him, and Cor feels… warm… real… alive.

“Mmnngh… that was rough wasn’t it…” Cor looks sheepish. Gods. He’s still so pale. Lost so much blood. The doctors told Regis that he’d started to go into shock. His body was shutting down. If they hadn’t gotten there in time…

“Don’t look at me like that, Caelum. Astrals, do I look that bad?” Cor laughs a little. Then winces.

“Gods, Cor. Are you alright? You… _fuck_ …I was so worried.” Regis holds the boy’s hand again, if only to just ground himself.

“I’ll be ok.” The way he says it makes Regis almost believe him. Almost.

Cor tries to lean up a bit, but his face pulls. “Stay still, astrals, Cor!” Regis guides him back down as gently as he can. Cor’s free hand is scrunching the sheets around his injury. Flexing and digging into the blanket. 

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

They sit there, silently for a bit. Regis still has Cor’s other hand clasped in his own.

“I’m sorry.” Cor says after a while.

“Shut up.” Regis won’t let him say it. Won’t let him feel like he’s made a mistake somehow, let him down…

Because it’s Regis who's made the mistake. Yanking a boy along for his war games. Pathetic.

“No. I’m sorry, Cor,” He sighs, and with it lets out a huge weight he’d been carrying since he saw the boy fall… bleeding… dying… “It’s my own damn fault. Should’ve never got you mixed up in this. I’ve just been so busy playing hero or something in this fucked up little charade I’ve got going. I never should’ve forced you to follow me…”

Cor lightly brushes his fingers along Regis’s palm. “With all due respect sir, you’re full of shit.”

Regis just blinks down at him.

“You never forced me to follow you, dumbass. I did that of my own accord. And from what I can see, you’re not playing hero. You _are_ one. To me and everyone else in this godsforsaken country. We all follow you, Regis. Because we believe in you.”

Maybe it’s the painkillers, Regis thinks. Because Cor’s never sounded so sincere, so compassionate. Regis, he called him. Yeah… definitely the painkillers… 

“Now quit scowling, would you? That’s my thing…” Cor grumbles and settles his head onto the pillow. His face is still pinched, pale. Regis sees a stain of dried blood around his mouth. Gods…

“You really worried me you know…”

“Yeah. I know.”

“You… almost… _died_ … Cor…” He hates saying it.

Cor’s got his eyes closed, but Regis knows he’s awake because his fingers still move against his palm.

“I didn’t though…”

“Yeah, but…”

Cor nestles closer against Regis’s thigh on the bedside.

…

“Haven’t you heard? I’m immortal…”

Regis watches him fall asleep.

This kid.

Who almost died.

For him.

Because he believed in him…

Later-

Regis washes the bloodstains from the backseat of the Regalia. Cor’s blood. It’s dark on the soft leather. He just scrubs and scrubs.

And he thinks he gets it.

Why Cor cleans the imaginary blood from his sword after battle.

It’s cleansing.

Wiping away the filth… the pain… the suffering.

Cor’s blood is red on the towel.

The blood he spilled for Lucis.

For Regis.

It’s all wrong…

So he purifies it.

Regis incites every swipe of his hand with a memory… Cor and the MT… shaking in the backseat….coughing up blood… not _breathing_ …

And he…

He washes it all away.

It’s not gone.

No.

It’s just… cleaner.

It makes it easier for him to move forward.


	7. A Family Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wes takes Cor on a side mission, if only to get the kid to have a moment's relaxation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was such a joy to write, it might be my favorite so far :)) I just love wes aaahhh...  
> I have this notion of regis and co's story being in a 1980's-esque setting due to it being thirty years ago... so use that to give you a better picture of cor's groovy outfit... god i love that kid XD  
> enjoy!~

“This your secret way of getting me to take a break?”

“Yup.” Wes narrows Cor an honest look, then focuses back on the road.

“Pssh. ‘Least you’re not bullshitting me. Still, you don’t have to pretend this is some vital mission or something.”

“Who said it wasn’t vital?”

“Fine then.” Cor slumps into the passenger seat, but there’s a bit of a smile coloring his words.

They were driving to Keycatrich, Wes’s hometown. Him and Cor. And despite the youth’s assessment, it really was for an important matter.

When Regis had pulled Weskham aside and explained the situation, he wasn’t surprised at his suggestion of bringing Cor. They had all been worried about the boy. His injury took a toll, no matter how hard the kid tried at hiding it. He still wanted to fight, of course. Only a few days rest seemed enough for him to get back out there. But he was carrying himself differently; a telltale weariness had snuck onto his face, a look that should never have hardened a boy so young. But that was war for you.

It had been almost two weeks since they’d nearly lost him, bleeding out in the backseat, while Wes had just watched the life pour out of him. The advisor wondered if Cor knew how close he had come to dying. That look on his face- all hollowed eyes and sharp edges… yeah… he probably knew.

So it was no wonder they had all conspired to get the kid to have some time to relax. The mission couldn’t have come at a better time.

But, when Regis had confronted Cor and told him he’d be needed for a diplomatic matter, the boy had a hard time suppressing his outrage.

“What? Pull me outta the field cuz you think I can’t handle myself anymore? That it?!” Wes had watched him practically fume at the Prince.

“Settle down, Cor. No one here thinks you’re weak. Besides, you’re going with Wes. I need you both in this.”

“Yeah, sure. Call off two able men when the rest of you are all left scrambling cuz we’ve got no fucking troops, sure.” Cor had scrunched his hand into his jacket. Over his new scar. A habit he’d picked up. Wes hated thinking about it.

But in the end, the kid acquiesced. And perhaps the most rewarding aspect of this whole endeavor was seeing Cor walk out of the base in his civilian clothes. Wes had told him to leave his uniform behind, and the kid looked perplexed. The advisor had to wonder if the boy even had regular clothes. But it turned out he did. And the result was unexpected to say the least.

“Who the hell are you and what have you done to our boy Cor?!” Regis had been the first to comment.

“Not a word.”

For all his attempts at remaining composed, Wes had never seen Cor so out of character.

The boy had sauntered over to the Regalia with an air of utmost adolescence. But it was his outfit- tight, faded jeans, probably a size too small, plain white sneakers, and a jacket so colorful it looked like an optical illusion… one of those neon windbreakers that all the hotshots wore. And to top it off, a pair of tinted glasses doing little to hide his scowl.

Wes had just whistled.

“Astrals, Cor. You lookin’ ta stop traffic son?” Cid had joined in with a hearty laugh.

Cor swatted at him as he passed.

“What’s this?!” Of course Clarus had to make a scene. “Don’t you need a permit to wear one of those? Pretty sure the Nifs use that pattern to brainwash the public-”

“Oi! Zip it, Amicitia!” The look that Cor had given him from under his sunglasses was enough to set the Shield into a fit of laughter.

“Stop! I think he looks cute!” Regis said. “Straight out of Insomnia Crush! Cor, can I put a picture of you on my wall?”

“Shut up!” Cor grumbled as he made his way to the car.

“Wait, is this your way of telling us you’re leaving the service for a career as a boyband backup dancer? Is it really true?” Clarus was practically howling. “Cuz, if I’m honest Cor, the harsh world of entertainment might be too much for you. How can we in good conscience let you walk around like a godsdamn sugar boy and not have a say in the matter, eh?”

Cor had paused, hand on the car door. “Are you really in a position to be calling me out, Amicitia? Last I checked, there was a petition to have your whole godsdamn wardrobe seized as fucking hazardous materials, jackass.” He adjusted his glasses and plopped down in the passenger seat.

Clarus looked like he was struggling to come up with another comeback, while Cid cackled in the background.

“That’ll be all, boys.” Wes had shot them all a peace sign and started the car.

“Well, fuck me.” Regis sounded exasperated. “Where do I sign that petition?”

For most of the trip, Wes and Cor had kept up light conversation. It was a few hours’ drive to Keycatrich, but Wes was relishing the peace that driving gave.

Like now-

He rolls the top down on the Regalia. The day had been overcast since morning, but the light breeze wafting through the car sends Wes into bliss. Cor shuffles into his seat, bringing his feet up on the dash. Something he wouldn’t have done if the Prince was there. Wes gets a better look at his shoes, scuffed and looking far past their prime. He passes a glance over at Cor’s face, still aloof, despite his showy performance earlier.

Wes chuckles lightly. “I have to ask- what’s with the shades, kid? It’s not even sunny.”

“Headache.” Is all he says.

Wes doesn’t push it. Because he knows the kid is still suffering from potion withdrawal- the Lucis health board had released a report a while back stating that a consumption of potions higher than three could cause serious side effects for the recipient. Cor had needed six. And he still scarred. Wes doesn’t want to think about what kinda hell his body had gone through.

So he lightens the subject again. “And the jacket? You sure your headache’s not from looking at all that neon? It’s like staring at the sun, astrals!”

“Can it.” Cor slumps further into his seat, huffing. He turns his face away, tucked against the seatbelt.

Weskham doesn’t know if he’s still embarrassed about all the teasing or if he really is still recovering, but Cor is silent for a bit after. He actually thinks the kid might have fallen asleep until-

“It’s from my mom.”

The advisor nearly starts at Cor’s response.

“Huh?”

“The jacket.” Cor says. “My mom gave it to me. For my birthday.” He sounds embarrassed.

“Sheesh! Just what every fourteen year old wants!”

“She said she saw it in a magazine.” The kid pulls at the middle of the jacket, giving it a once-over. “I know it’s ugly. But still…”

“Hey, it was sweet of your mom, kid.” Wes suddenly feels bad for making fun of him.

“Yeah.” Cor rubs at his forehead.

“You heard from your family since you left for the base?”

“Nah. Haven’t really found the time…” Cor looks off at the trees passing.

“They would’ve contacted your mother… about the injury…” Wes doesn’t know why he feels so guilty.

“I know.” The kid sighs. “I… I don’t wanna talk about it with her… she’d only worry more… plus I’m fine so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Ok.” Again, Wes doesn’t push. It’s like that with Cor. He’s stubborn. But given the right circumstances, he’d open up. Bit by bit. Wes hopes he’d reach out to his mother soon though. Poor woman was probably worried sick about her son.

They arrive at Keycatrich and Wes can’t help but feel nostalgic driving through the familiar streets. Cor had fallen asleep in the past hour, and Wes feels bad shaking him awake; the kid really was having a hard time coming off his injury... but they had reached their destination.

“Hmmn? We there?” Cor does his best to shake off his lethargy. Wes ruffles his hair. He watches the kid squint up at the building in front of them.

A large stone manor, fountain splashing from the inner garden, wrought iron gate keeping them from entering right away.

“Where exactly are we…?” Cor stretches as he exits the car.

“My house.” Weskham ducks his head, rubbing his hand on the nape of his neck.

Cor flashes him a look of surprise, then immediately stares down at himself, tugging on his flamboyant jacket, looking mortified. 

“Don’t, worry, you’ll be fine. C’mon.” Wes guides him to the gate, punches in the code from memory, and steps up the walk to the house he’d grown up in. It feels weird, he thinks. Being away for so long. And now to be back, with Cor of all people. The kid still adjusts himself awkwardly, attempting to tame his hair that was disheveled from sleep. The sunglasses stay though.

Wes just smirks.

“Is that my darling boy?” Upon entering the foyer, Wes is almost instantly bombarded by his over-affectionate father.

If Wes had to describe his father, he would call Dion Armaugh a robust and passionate man. Seeing as he’s now wrapped up in the large man’s warm embrace, he decides they are both endearing traits.

Dion slaps his hands around his son’s arms, surveying him up and down. “You doing well, my boy? Eating alright? Can’t imagine the military’s serving up better food than your old man’s.”

Wes grins. “I’m alright, pop. Been keeping myself busy safe-guarding Lucis’s future, you know how it is. As for the food- well it obviously doesn’t hold a candle to your famous gumbo.”

The advisor hadn’t realized just how much he missed his family, so he savors the tender moment. Then his father turns to survey Wes’s companion. Cor keeps himself sheltered by the door, looking unsure.

“Who’s this then? Flashy jacket, son! You a friend of Wes’s?” To Cor’s mortification, and maybe Weskham’s, Dion goes over and gives the boy a hearty hug.

To his credit, Cor doesn’t flip out of his skin. But Wes half expects him to whip out an attack on Dion just on instinct. He’s glad he doesn’t.

“Dad, please, you’re gonna suffocate the poor kid!” Wes has to admit it’s pretty comical seeing Cor smothered by his father’s embrace. 

“Got a name, son?” Dion retracts but Cor still looks unbalanced.

“Lieutenant Leonis, sir.” Of course Cor was maintaining his professionalism. Wes chuckles.

“Well Leonis, make yourself at home. We Armaughs pride ourselves on our hospitality, don’t we, Wes my boy?”

“Sure, pop.” Wes just shakes his head.

Cor stands there awkwardly, still wearing his glasses indoors. He leans in to Wes to whisper “I thought you said this was a vital mission.”

“It is. Don’t you worry.” Wes pulls Cor along into the house, up the stairs to the first floor gallery. He keeps an eye on his father, who’s now looking at Cor like he wants to adopt him. Poor kid couldn’t hide his astonishment at the grandeur of Wes’s home. The gaudy chandelier flickers off his sunglasses.

“Mmm. I thought I heard a commotion. Welcome home son.” Sitting on the gilded sofa upstairs is Wes’s mother. The Lady Livia Armaugh always presented a striking figure. But now- graying hair done up in a decadent knot, dressed in a deep blue set of robes embroidered with celestial patterns, Wes hopes she doesn’t overwhelm Cor even more than his father had.

“The light of Shiva’s moon casts a hallowed shadow on your footsteps, son. You are looking well.”

Yup. Definitely overwhelming.

“I’m glad I was able to make the trip myself, mother. Prince Regis sends his highest regards and gratitude for your service in these trying times.” Wes feels the weight of his mission now. He turns to Cor and introduces him. “Cor, this is my mother, Lady Livia Armaugh, renowned cosmologist. Mom, this is Cor Leonis, a fellow member of Prince Regis’s retinue.”

Cor doesn’t seem to know what to do, so he bows slightly. It’s clear he’s been caught off guard. Most people had no idea that Wes’s mother was so distinguished. An author of several volumes of the Cosmogony, Lady Livia was one of the top living experts on everything relating the divine. Which also made her a bit zany, Wes knew, but her knowledge of prophecy would only come to their benefit in this case.

Still- she gets to her feet revealing her generous height and weighs Cor up and down so profoundly, Wes can almost feel the boy recoil.

“A Sagittarius, correct?” Wes’s mother offers Cor a knowing smile.

“Yeah.” Cor gives her a strained smile back.

“Hmm. You carry an air of Titan’s burden upon your young shoulders.” She circles around him. “Rest assured, the weight will not break you. I see the shape of leadership in your steadfast shadow, Cor.”

Cor just blinks.

It’s at that moment that a door along the corridor opens and Wes’s sisters enter the mix. At this rate, the advisor was afraid Cor would try to leap from the bannister to escape his overbearing family.

“Wes! Bout time you showed up!” Wes’s older twin sisters, Tassa and Jemina rush over giving him a duel hug. They’re both taller than him, long black hair wrapped in intricate braids.

“And who’s this cutie, huh?” Tassa gapes at Cor. “You adopt a kid without telling us, Wessie?”

“As if!” Wes brushes her off. “This is Cor, youngest Crownsguard initiate Lucis has ever had.”

“Damn boy!” Jemina sounds impressed. “What’re you doing hanging around Wes for? Shouldn’t you be out there killin’ off all these Nif scum poppin’ up at our doorstep?”

“Actually I-” Cor starts, but Wes cuts him off.

“Cor was injured recently, so he’s here helping me on a consular matter. I’m actually here to consult with mom, so if you two airheads would clear out, I’d be much obliged.”

“Sheesh, Wes! When did you get so uppity! Later dweeb!” His sister pulls at his hair teasingly and the two make their way downstairs, Tassa winking at Cor.

The kid still looks dumbfounded. So much for this being a relaxing trip for him; he’d probably need a week’s vacation to recover from all of Wes’s family’s nuttiness.

“Anyway, mom,” Wes addresses his mother and the group arranges themselves on the sofas. Cor rubs his fingers against his jacket, but Wes gives him a reassuring look. “From what Prince Regis divulged, there’s this matter of the royal arms…”

The consultation with his mother goes on longer than Wes had anticipated. Wes had known that Regis was looking for alternative sources of power to change the tides, but his mentioning of a royal arsenal of magic weapons had seemed like a longshot to the advisor at the time. But after hearing his mother’s assurance that the weapons of prophecy were not only real, but attainable, Wes began feeling more optimistic.

His mother had given him a detailed explanation based off an ancient text that she had transcribed, recounting the swords of old Lucian Kings and hinting at their resting places. She had regretted that there were only theories as to their current-world locations, but it was enough that Wes felt he could offer Regis a promising report. 

At some point during their discussion, Cor had nodded off. Wes felt bad for not noticing. It was only when his father had appeared with a warm blanket to cover the kid that he realized Cor had been silent for a while.

“Why don’t you two spend the night? I’m sure the Prince wouldn’t mind waiting another day for his report.” His father had offered, and Wes didn’t bother protesting.

Which is how he found himself sitting on the patio with Cor, waiting while his father prepared dinner.

“Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” Cor grumbles. “Probably won’t be able to sleep later, now…”

“Oh, you’ll sleep.” Wes grins at him. “Once you lay down on the heavenly beds we’ve got here, you’ll probably never wanna get up again.”

“Hmmph! We’ll see about that.” Cor stretches his legs on the lounge chair he’s sitting in. What a site- his colorful jacket catching the last of the sun’s rays. He’d finally taken off his sunglasses.

“Headache still there?” Wes asks.

“Nah. Mostly gone.” Cor leans back, looking almost content, stretched out and comfortable at last. So maybe some relaxation after all…

The sun sets and Wes takes a moment to lose himself in the quiet serenity of the oncoming night. He had missed this. Hadn’t realized how much anxiety he’d been suppressing. Maybe it wasn’t just Cor that needed a break. 

“Your house is nice.” Cor remarks.

“I suppose so.”

“And your family… they’re good people.”

Wes turns to look at him, surprised. “Hmm. My dad didn’t crush you with his hug, did he? He’s an odd one, what with all the touchy-feeliness. And I thought for sure my mom would spook you to high hell with her mysticism.”

“No.” Cor says. “They’re cool.”

“Heh, if you say so…”

“So what’s this about magic swords then? Regis that desperate for a breakthrough, he’s looking into legend?” The kid huffs.

“Well… if what my mom said is true, these royal arms offer Regis a shot at divine power. Only to be wielded by him. For all our struggling keeping up with the Nifs, it’s worth a shot.”

“I guess so. We gonna be the ones to track ‘em down then?”

“You know it.” Wes says.

“War’s pushing this way…” Cor sounds regretful. “Think they’ll be alright? Your family?”

“Yeah. We Armaughs can handle ourselves alright. Dad’s a member of the King’s Ambassadors, so he’ll know when the shit’s about to hit the fan.”

“Yeah… still…”

There’s an unspoken thing. But Wes doesn’t want to think about the war now. Not when he’s home for the first time in almost a year.

They fall into silence, sounds of bugs piping up, drowning out Wes’s thoughts.

“You didn’t need me to come for the mission.”

“No.” Wes doesn’t bullshit.

“Pshh. Thanks though.”

“No problem kid.”

At some point, Wes’s dad calls him from the kitchen asking for assistance. Wes is only too happy to help out. Cooking with his dad had been one of his fondest experiences growing up. He relishes Cor’s look of interest.

“Didn’t know you could cook, Wes.”

“Has my son not been sharing the wealth of his talents?” Dion says. “And you told me all they serve at the base was cardboard rations, son. Let’s get this boy a palatable meal!” 

In that moment, Wes is grateful that Cor came along for the journey. Watching the kid interact with his family- he's squished between both sisters, looking baffled as they appear to talk simultaneously- it gives the advisor such a content feeling inside. It’s something he’s glad he got to share with a kid he knew probably didn’t have a lot of moments like this. And yeah… he wasn’t vital to the mission. But hell if the kid didn’t need this kind of healing.

And the next morning- After Wes had to practically slap the kid in the face to get him to wake up from his heavenly comfortable sleep, Cor looks less haggard. He wears a look on his face that compliments his youthfulness. A brighter expression.

“You were right about those beds… damn…” He even smiles.

“Well don’t get used to it now. Back to suffering Clarus’s cacophony of snoring tonight.”

“Sheesh. Don’t remind me.”

Wes prepares a light breakfast, already not looking forward saying goodbye to his family again.

Cor drags a hand through his hair looking like he was struggling to say something.

Eventually, he asks bashfully “Think I can borrow your phone?”

“Sure kid. It’s on the wall by the door.” Wes nods to the telephone.

He makes himself busy preparing the food, and when the kid starts talking, he does his best to pretend he can’t hear him… if only for his dignity…

But he still can’t help smiling at what he hears.

“Mom?... yeah… hi… yeah it’s Cor… yeah... sorry I haven’t called…”

Wes beats an egg and stirs it onto the skillet.

“Yeah… I’m fine… no mom… really… I’m ok… sorry they called you about that… I’m really ok though… you don’t have to worry…”

A thick slab of bacon, sizzling in the other pan. Wes turns it.

“It’s been ok… yeah, yeah… really?... huh… did Ursa start school then?… huh… are they all doing ok?…”

The advisor cuts up some onion and garlic, stirs in some chives.

“… are they?…does she wanna talk… oh… ok…hi…Ursa slow down… yeah it’s me… it’s Cor… that you, Ven? Lilla?... yeah yeah… slow down, gods… can’t hear you all at once aiiishh…”

Wes smirks.

Yeah. Cor needed this.

And later, when they drive away, back to the base, Cor looks down at his jacket and smiles.

When they were leaving, Wes’s father had stuffed a basket full of fruitcakes into Cor’s arms, after giving him a tremendous goodbye hug. The kid didn’t even look fazed by it anymore.

And now-

Driving off down the road, sun shining… Wes feels more warmth than the sun is giving off.

“Hey, lemme borrow those glasses, kid. Can barely see!”

“Hah! You wish! Get your own godsdamned glasses, Wes!” Cor’s got his feet on the dash again. Damn punk.

“What’ll you do if I crash cuz the sun’s glaring in my eyes? Huh?”

“Oh I see! You all get to make fun of me til you realize how cool these glasses really are!”

“As if, kid!”

It’s a funny thing…

How the kid had a way of opening up more and more.

Especially around Wes.

The advisor is beginning to think he might be seeing Cor’s true colors after all.

Only who would’ve guessed they were bright fucking neon…?


	8. Bottled Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cid notices Cor trying his hardest to keep his feelings hidden away. After a bad mission, he has no choice but to lay it all out there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this one was longer than I intended. Also heavier. I was gonna make it a fluffier chapter but angst happens I guess.  
> Anyway i love cid being the reluctant father figure that nobody asked for. And cor just being his typical broody self.  
> They all need some love...  
> ~enjoy

If Cid is being honest, then he’d be the first to begrudgingly admit that the war had been taking a toll.

Not on his body. Well maybe. Hell, he’s only forty-six. He’d be selling himself short if he allowed all the youngsters to underestimate his capability. And for the most part, he has no trouble handling himself in battle.

No. It’s the mental thing.

A funk brewing in the brain, Cid reckons. He feels it, and he’s sure as hell all the other boys have got it too.

When Regis broke the car down outside of Hammerhead, Cid had seen it first-hand. So he had done what he does best- using the opportunity to try to impart some sympathy in the form of tough love, and hell if the kid didn’t need it. The two of them had spent hours sweating over the busted Regalia, fixing what needed to be fixed, and with it… Cid did his part to fix Regis. Not that the brat would ever admit it. But hearing him vocalize all his doubts- the naïve Prince too inexperienced to carry the weight of a nation, too many people dying, too much land being lost- well, Cid had wished all his troubles could be solved by pumping some air into his tires.

As it was, the mechanic found it best to let the Prince focus on the task at hand and use it to vent his frustrations. Worked even better. It was as if Cid had opened up his hood to see all the mess himself. And gods, was the kid biting off more than he could chew. Regis had always been proud. But hearing him bitch and holler- it made Cid more aware of how hard it must have been for him. Sure, the mechanic offered his thoughts, a bit of sage wisdom to soothe his vexations, but it was more the act of it- the talking, the fixing.

By the time they were done patching up the car, Regis carried himself differently. There was something like a spring in his step. Confidence, maybe.

Cid didn’t need the “thanks, old man” to confirm that his bit of home-brewed therapy had worked.

Turned out the other boys needed it too.

Somehow…Cid found himself becoming the go-to headshrinker without really meaning to…

Clarus sought him out at night; the two smoking cigars under the moonlight, talking, just talking. And Weskham; the dignified one of the group would never ask for it, but somehow the two of them would always end up on tent duty, laying out grievances while slamming hammers on spikes. Lately they’d been taking to camping out in the wilderness, always on the move. Cid hadn’t minded. It cleared his head a bit.

And when his head wasn’t clear… well that was his own damn time to psychoanalyze. Only his therapist was a bottle of Piztalan whiskey that tasted like the scourge itself. It was what he needed though. And he kept it to himself. His little secret. He had been a spy after all. Maybe that’s why the kids had no trouble spilling their guts to him. Must’ve been his openness.

Only… he still hadn’t managed to unlock the youngest of the bunch.

Cor had always been the odd man out. And ‘man’ was stretching it. Even to Cid, who always refused to acknowledge his own age.

Cor was fourteen and they all knew it. They all saw him charge ahead into battle, like some highfalutin war hero. No one really wanted to address what was really going on though; that after- that cool collectedness he always sported… well it was starting to show signs of wear. But Cid saw through the cracks. It wouldn’t be long til the kid was flying off the handle. He was certain.

The few times he’d gotten close to the kid, there had always been something keeping him back. Cid had been sure the kid needed someone to talk to, especially after the nasty business of an MP arm in his gut, but Cor kept his distance.

Sure, he’d talk with Cid and the others, always in his pissed-off brat kinda way. But if the mechanic knew him, and he was starting to think he did, than the kid wouldn’t be able to bottle up all his feelings forever.

Especially now-

The war was starting to show its ugly side.

Cid had seen it coming, hell… he’d seen it before.

Watching as a town burns to the ground, though…people screaming to get out… it still gets to him.

The older man stands still, witnessing the building in front of him erupt in a fiery blaze. Astrals almighty. They’d all need therapy after this.

Distantly, he registers his companions running about, gathering people to safety. They’d been called to a middle-of-nowhere town that had somehow gotten on the radar of the Nif scum. Cid hadn’t expected this though.

The mechanic feels heat blister his skin as he helps Clarus drag a smoldering body from the building. He doesn’t look down, doesn’t want to see that it’s too late.

There’s loud yelling in his ears, and he takes a moment to realize that it’s Cor, not a victim.

“Whassat?” Cid coughs roughly.

“There’s more inside. A family I think.” The kid is blinking down at him, Cid having crouched low to the dirt.

Before either can form a plan, a man rushes out of the building, gasping and frantic. He nearly topples into Cor, who, to his credit, stands his ground.

“Sir!” Cor barks at him. “How many others?”

The man is still desperately trying to flee, getting as far away from the building as possible.

“Sir! Which room did you escape from? Are there others?”

Swatting his arms in an agitated flurry, the man tries to break free of the hold Cor’s got on him. “Lemme through!”

The kid releases and the man scrambles off to a safer area.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Cid can’t afford to get caught up in the moment. Because Cor dashes into the inferno and Cid’s right behind him.

They find the family in the upstairs apartment. The walls had already started falling in, choked with smoke and fire.

Cid sees Cor grab something- a small child. He passes the poor thing to the mechanic, who holds it close as he storms out to the exit. Thankfully, he feels shuddered breathing as he relinquishes hold of the child to a medical officer standing outside. Then he’s back up the stairs, feeling his way more than seeing, and he finds Cor huddled around two more forms.

“Take ‘er.” The kid says, barely managing it with the coughing. The boy’s got another child in his arms, soot-faced and wailing. The other form, the ‘her’ he was referring to, is unmoving under Cor’s protection. Cid crouches, grabbing the body and hauling it onto his shoulders before the both of them make a hasty exit. The sounds of crashing wood and aggravated fire consume all thoughts he has as they make it outside just before the building collapses in on itself.

Panting hard, Cid stumbles to the sidewalk, bringing down the body in his arms gently to the ground, so a paramedic can look her over. It’s hopeless, he thinks. But he doesn’t want to say so.

He looks over at Cor, black with soot, still holding the sobbing child in his arms. His eyes were darting around, looking for the second child that Cid had saved.

The young girl Cor’s holding screams something like _mama_ , and the mechanic has to double over to hide his grief. Cor looks at him, eyes wide and accusatory. Cid just shakes his head.

“Fuck.” The child screams louder, and Cor adjusts his hold, bringing up a hand to rub some of the blackness off her face. “Shhh. _Shhh_. You’re ok.” He’s surprisingly gentle.

All tenderness aside, Cid can’t just stand around. Not with the town still on fire. He registers the forms of Regis and Clarus, gathering a crowd away from the mounting flames. Wes is somewhere off to the side, a medical officer tending to a nasty burn on his arm. And in the middle is Cor and the damn child. The one that’s still screaming its sad little head off. The one whose mother now lay dead at Cid’s feet.

Having lost focus for a second, Cid is surprised to see a man run up to Cor, attempting to pull the little girl from his hold.

“She needs to be seen by a doctor, sir.” Cor says as he makes his way to where the medical unit were taking victims.

“You don’t understand. She’s my daughter. I can take her from here.”

As Cid gets closer, he sees the startled look on Cor’s face. And he realizes it’s the same man who’d desperately fled the building earlier. By himself. 

Cor’s blue eyes turn icy. “You mean to tell me that you left your family behind? To burn. While you escaped alone?”

The man still has a frazzled edge to his behavior. Cid walks up behind him and sees the bastard is still looking like he wanted to high tail it outta there.

“I didn’t think! Ok? I just had to get out!” He’s practically screaming in Cor’s face. “Now gimme my daughter!”

“You left them.” Cor’s voice is cold, deadly. “You left them to die. Your wife is dead.”

The frantic man stills for a second, then makes a grab at Cor, who shields the child with his whole body. The girls just screams louder.

“I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry! Just gimme her! _Gimme her!_ ”

Thankfully a medical team arrive before things escalate. Because if they hadn’t, Cid is pretty certain that he would’ve had to peel Cor off the bastard before he could kill him. The paramedics take custody of the still-screaming child, and Cor and Cid are left standing in silence.

The older man moves first, bringing up a hand and resting it on the kid’s shoulder.

Cor’s voice is raspy, empty, when he responds. “The other one. Alive?”

Cid doesn’t need him to elaborate. “Still breathin’ when I got ‘im ta safety.”

The younger boy shrugs off the mechanic’s arm. “Let’s go.”

And they do. They go through the rest of the small town. Pulling out those they could save, those they couldn’t.

At the end of it all, they sit back and watch as the wreckage smolders, and the sky darkens to a mottled crimson.

The war was taking a toll. Cid is certain now.

And maybe it wouldn’t just be in his nightmares that the child’s screams reappeared. But Cor blocks himself off again. He’s standing with his back to the wreckage, the harsh lighting of the sunset making him look much older, much harder.

He doesn’t talk. Not now- when they gather themselves back together, not later- back on the road, and not after they’ve set up camp.

Cid doesn’t approach him. No. He’d come out, he thinks. In his own time.

Hopefully.

It’s the next day when they really start addressing it all. Regis sits by the tent, constantly shaking his head. Clarus has that post-battle aura, where he both talks non-stop about what went wrong and lapses into long silences. Wes lets Cid tend to the burn on his arm, while he recounts the successes they had managed to make.

And Cor sits off to the side, cleaning his sword. He hadn’t used it, no, not for a rescue mission. If it could be called that.

Cid eyes him though. With concern.

They usually let Cor deal with things in his own way. His private, teenage-angst way. Where if you dared to say anything to him you’d be met with a ‘shut the hell up!’.

He hadn’t even bothered with that though. Just methodically scrubbing his hands up the sword.

It’s clear he’d been listening. Cid sees him flinch when Clarus brings up a body of a woman he’d pulled out of what might have been a bakery. The kid’s hands shake too. Subtle. But enough that the mechanic notices.

Cid is about to call out to him when the boy just stands up abruptly.

“Cor-” Regis attempts, but he’s cut off.

“Need some…” Cor waves his hand vaguely. “I don’t know. Gonna sit in the car. Listen to the radio. I don’t know.”

Before any of them can get more out of him, the kid paces off in the direction of the Regalia.

“Cid.” Wes says, after they all take a moment to stare after their young friend. “You wanna talk to him? Or should I?”

“Pretty sure it’ll all amount to a hill o’ beans now.” Cid spits on the dirt “Damn kid’s got himself bottled up to the brim. Nah. Give ‘im some time to cool off. Then we’ll see what he’s got to say.” He leans back in the chair, sighing. It’s what he’d normally do, with the other young’uns; let them come to him in their own time. Only Cor’d never reached out before. And it’s clear he had a lot weighing on him.

The mechanic sighs again. Astrals.

“Well I’m worn slap out. Gonna need a little rest, so quit yer yapperin’, alright?” He tips his head back and attempts to let sleep take over.

He still listens as his young comrades dwell over the previous day’s incidents. But surprisingly, he manages to nod off. He’d slept under worse circumstances, after all.

After his nap, Cid wakes up to see that it's already later than he’d thought. His neck is stiff and he blinks into the afternoon haze to see Clarus giving him look.

“Whatchu lookin’ at boy?”

“Nothin. Just don’t overwork yourself old man.”

“Sheesh. Man can’t take a godsdamn nap in peace?”

Clarus smirks and goes back to preparing the firewood. Cid stretches and clambers out of the camping chair, wincing only a little.

He stands there for a bit, surveying the land, the atmosphere. There’s a serene breeze blowing from the north, and he uses it to ease his troubles; the ones not from sleeping uncomfortably in a chair. He notices Regis and Weskham over by the tent, playing cards or something.

Cid turns to Clarus. “Kid still not back?”

The Shield huffs. “Been there since you fell asleep. Was gonna check on him, but…” He trails off.

“Aw, hell.” The mechanic gives a final stretch before making up his mind. It was no use letting Cor wallow this long.

Walking over to where they parked the Regalia, Cid lets out a long sigh. Poor kid thought he could hide away, keep all his woes on lockdown. Cid thought he ought to just drag him out, get him to just spill it all- his feelings and what-not. It might be for the best. Least then he wouldn’t keep brewing in all that toxicity. 

The first thing he notices when he finally approaches the car is the sound. Like a static buzzing interrupted by scrambled sounds of music. The boy had said he wanted to listen to the radio. Well if this what kid’s these days listened to, Cid would rather stick a drill bit into his ears.

As he gets closer he realizes the signal must be busted. And there’s a slight thumping sound. Cid begins feeling something creep in his chest that makes him feel a bit worried. He turns to the passenger side door where he finally sees Cor. The kid is systematically kicking the dashboard console, his boot digging into the radio unit.

“Fuck almighty.” Cid hadn’t expected he would be this bad. Only… it somehow manages to get much, much worse.

Tapping on the passenger window, Cid steels himself for the verbal assault he’s about to unleash on the stupid brat. But Cor doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he kinda lolls his head back, drumming it against the glass. 

“Boy! Open up so I can give you a piece of my mind! Go on!” Cid angrily knocks on the window again, this time causing Cor to flinch, as he’d hit the spot where the boy’s head was resting.

Blinking up at him, Cor looks dazed. Glassy-eyed. Cid has a sinking suspicion…

The kid pushes a button, and the window rolls down. And that’s all Cid needs to confirm-

‘S’there a probl’m officer?” Cor actually giggles.

“What in high hell have you done, boy?”

The smell coming from the car, that unmistakable syrupy thick aroma… Cor’s got his mouth hanging open, still chuckling vaguely.

“Radio’s aaall busted. Mngh… ‘s all fizzy ‘n if I kick it s’goes all frrzzzz!” He chokes on his own stupid laugh, then to punctuate his incoherent thought, he slams his boot into the console.

Cid has seen enough. He grabs the door handle, wrenching it open to expose the full truth.

There’s the bottle. His secret little booze stock. He isn’t sure how much he’d left in it… but now… it’s _empty_. There’s a slight puddle around it where it had fallen on the mat. At least the kid hadn’t managed to drink it all then. Hopefully.

Having suddenly found himself without a door to lean on, Cor flails against gravity, flipping himself upside down, one leg still on the dash. Cid grabs him before he can topple out completely.

“You better give yer heart to the Astrals, boy, cuz yer ass is mine.” Cid tugs him upright again and he can feel the kid’s hot breath thickening the air.

“Hmmnrgg.” The noise Cor makes is indecipherable. But then he’s laughing again. That twisted rasping that should never have come from him. “Hehe..hah… you talk funny…” He flops against Cid, who’s now fully supporting his weight. Then Cor actually nuzzles his head into Cid’s shoulder.

“Hell, son! I reckon yer drunker than a boiled owl. How’d you think you’d get off gettin’ so soused on our watch, hm?” Cid grapples with him a bit as Cor attempts to escape his hold. Up close, the mechanic can see his cheeks are flushed red and his eyes can’t seem to focus. And there’s still that slap-silly grin on his face.

“Yer booze tasssste like shit, ol’ man.” He slurs into Cid’s shoulder.

“So first ya go and drink away my only solace in this godsfersakin’ war, now ya have the nerve to insult me? Sheesh kid. What are we gonna do with you…”

What was he going to do? Cid had a few quick remedies for sobering up quick, but half of them involved running off into a Nif den, guns blazing.

He knew it had been risky, keeping his booze in the glove compartment. But hell if any of those sorry striplings ever gave a rat’s ass about keeping the car nice and tidy before. He’s pretty sure Regis still has no clue that his missing pair of socks were what the mechanic used to conceal the damn bottle.

But Cor found him out. He shoulda known. Kid was godsdamn observant. Only Cid had never expected the boy to help himself to his only bottle of whiskey.

And so now- the mechanic pulls Cor bodily from the car, the teenager sloppily leaning into him, hardly able to keep himself upright. It’s a strange thing- the kid had already far surpassed Cid in height, but now the mechanic really got to feel his heaviness. 

“What have we been feedin’ you boy? Gotta tell Wes to lay off the fine dinin’, or I’m afraid you’ll keep growin’ til you sprout yer way ta heaven.”

Cor warbles a laugh. “Mmm… meat…got any meat ol’ man? ‘M huuungry.”

“Ya sure? After yer liquid lunch?” Cid drags him along, back to camp, already trying to figure a way outta this conundrum. This wasn’t exactly how he’d wanted the kid to open up. But by gods… was he spilling.

“Mama cooks real good… mm-hm…she makes me pasta when I ask… ‘s good… like with the lit’l bitsa stuffs… ‘n mnghh you think Wes’ll make some… hm… Wessssall… Wesss…” He keeps spewing bullshit as Cid practically carries him back to the campsite.

The mechanic tries not to make a commotion, in fact he would’ve avoided this route if it didn’t overlap where he was really headed. But Cor’s too godsdamn obvious. 

“You’re so… tiny…hehe… s’like why’reyou so lit’le if yer old…hah!” Cor thinks he’s hilarious, apparently. Cid disagrees. When they round the line of trees and see the campfire Clarus had lit, the mechanic braces himself, more for the inevitable damage to Cor’s dignity than his own.

“Look… look… s’ fire again… more fire… fuck s’briiight…”

“Cid…?” Wes asks the question as he sees the two approaching the edge of the campsite.

“What…” Clarus gets to his feet.

“Look at Amicitia. Thinkse’s hot shit with that fuck off haircut. Hehe… s’lookin’ like a gorilla or something eh?” It’s clear Cor has no idea how loud he’s being. Probably thought he was whispering, but it’s blaring in Cid’s ear.

“Holy shit.” Clarus sounds about as baffled as he looks. “Cor’s drunk.”

Cor’s response is to unleash a cacophony of strangled laughter. Cid has to adjust his hold again, as the boy threatens to wobble out of his arms.

“Ummm?” Wes approaches, looking wary. “Is this a major problem? This is a major problem.”

“Don’t ya worry none.” Cid gives him a hopeless shrug. “Just the boy’s first sip o’ poison, is all. He’ll be fine.”

There’s a sound like assent coming from Cor. Regis stares openmouthed, as he emerges from the tent. “What in fresh hell is this?” His face contorts into a wicked grin. “Cor? Drunk? This I gotta see.”

Cor just points at him. “Prince’s gonna have my ass ‘f he sees me wasted on th’job…” He seems to register that he’d just thrown himself under his own damn bus. “Fuck… s’too late… ‘mgonna get fired…pfft!”

“I’ll be damned…” Regis shakes his head in disbelief, then locks eyes with Cid. “Look what happened. He didn’t want to talk so he had to go and get himself shit-faced. Un-fucking-real…”

“Cid… maybe…” Wes still hovers, looking like he wanted to take some of the support off Cid’s shoulders.

“I’was his nasty ass booze… s’like fire in yer mouth… s’like…ahgchk! Ya know? S’gross… but I licked it all up…mmmn… s’nasty stuff.” Cor rolls his head sickeningly. Cid just drags him forward again, hoping to spare him any further mortification.

“Just gonna take our boy Cor here for little stroll ta get ‘is head clear. Alright?”

The group around the campfire look like they had no authority to question the older man. Clarus appears like he’s half between hilarity and concern. Regis is still gaping. After Cid gets a hesitant nod from Wes, he starts dragging the kid off to where they’d seen a lake somewhere over yonder.

“ _Boy_. Yer in a right state. Can’t have ya bottlin’ it up, ya see? You’ll drown in yer own misery.”

Cor doesn’t responds, just lets himself be manhandled all the way to the waterfront. 

“Sit yer ass down.” Cid releases his grasp, and Cor practically flops to the dirt. The tide shifts the darkening water, lapping it close to where they sit.

“Was’is about, ol’ man? Huh? Ya gonna sing me a campfire song r’somethin’?”

Cid just sighs again and slaps an arm on the kid’s back, pushing him forward.

“Wha- ahhskkghk!!” Cor doesn’t have time to prepare himself before he’s shoved face first into the shallow water. 

It’s not his best method. But it’ll do. Cid watches as the kid flails, dripping water and looking around, startled.

“Sss’fuck! What the fuck!? What?!” He swiping away the cold water from his head, turning to look at Cid, his offender, wide-eyed.

“Ya needed ta cool off, son.” Cid says.

“Hah… f-fuck me…” It appears that the shocking dip in the cold water brought some kinda awareness back to Cor. He rocks back and forth as he sits, still holding his wet head. “What the fuck, Cid. This cuz I drank all yer nasty booze?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

“Sorry…I…hmgnh.. s’just that…oh… _fuck_ …I-“ Cor pales suddenly, eyes full of terror. He scrambles away from Cid, barely managing to crouch before he vomits spectacularly into a bush.

“Sheesh. That’ll do it.” Cid leans back, not wanting to get closer. The kid keeps heaving painfully. Coughing and gasping. So the mechanic offers a kind hand on his back, rubbing circles as Cor shudders.

“Mnnghh… fuck me… hurts…”

“I know, kid. I know.” Cid splashes some water on his hand and presses it to the kid’s forehead. “Always worse on the way out. That’s the way it works.”

“Was bad before… mngh fuck.. ‘s even worse now.. s’like burning…gods… s’like fire ‘n my throat.” He chokes again, bringing up more bile.

“That’ll teach ya not to go stealin’ another man’s vice, ya hear?”

Cor just gives a shaky thumbs-up from where he’s hunched over in the bush.

After- he collapses next to Cid, one of his legs accidentally dipping into the lake. He breathes heavy, eyes closed.

“Fuck.”

“Yup.”

Cid shakes his head at an imaginary audience, then looks down at the sorry-ass teen sprawled on the dirt.

“Ya mind tellin’ me what that was all about, son?” He says.

Cor doesn’t open his eyes, clutching at his middle with his arm. “Don’t know whatchu mean…”

“Hell… I don’t know…maybe sneakin’ off getting yerself hammered so ya don’t have to deal with all yer pent-up feelings…”

“Oh that.” Cor scrunches a hand against his eyes.

“It’s no good, boy. All that repressed emotion ‘n what not. If ya want, I’m hear fer talking…”

“Wha’s there to say…gods…” The kid coughs roughly, straining his neck back on the dirt. “Mnghh fuck.. s’still burning… s’all still burning…like fire…fuck…”

Cid doesn’t prompt him further, because he doesn’t need it.

“The fire… those people…astrals… we let ‘em all burn…”

“Naw, we helped ‘em where we could. Some things are just outta our hands, son.”

“I’m not your son.” Cor says abruptly. “You’re not my dad.”

“And thank the gods fer that. Wouldn’t do me no good havin’ a troublesome brat such as yerself as ma own kin.” Cid chuckles. If only to hide what he’s really thinking.

“No… my dad…hah… my dad left us to burn too… prob’ly… high tailed it the fuck outta there… good fucking riddance…”

So that’s what this was then.

Cid had known the kid’s father had abandoned him- all of Cor’s siblings, his mother. And… maybe he didn’t leave them in a burning building… but it mighta felt like it. Especially after what they’d seen. The frantic man they saw… who’d left his kids to burn. For all Cor’s grief… his name coulda been Leonis.

Cid feels a twist in his gut for not noticing it all earlier.

“But s’what I did too… what I’m still doing…” His words still slur, but Cor’s dead serious. Cid has no doubt. “Been runnin’ away for all m’life…guess I learned that from ’im…”

“It’s not the same, kid.” Cid offers a comforting hand on the kid’s still-damp head.

“Isn’t it? ‘M too damn selfish…” Cor blinks hard and fast. “Won’t they hate me for it?”

“Naw, son. Your family knows you love ‘em. That’s the difference.”

“They could be… they could be burning and I…I… I just left’em…what m’I even doin’ anymore…fuck…”

Suddenly, he rolls onto his stomach, and Cid’s afraid he might be sick again, but he just curls in on himself. Rocking back and forth.

“Yer a good kid, Cor. Believe that at least.” The mechanic rubs soft patterns on his back. “But don’t think fer a second I’m not gonna chew you out to high hell fer drinkin’ up ma best bottle of Piztalan’s finest.”

Cor chuckles sadly. “They’ll never let me hear the end of this… will they…?”

“No siree! But it’s best not ta argue with idiots, cuz they’ll go and drag ya down ta their level an’ beat ya with experience!”

Cor actually laughs. It’s more like a sob at first, but by the end, he’s choking for breath, laughing his godsdamn ass off. 

“Ya know… I still have no idea what you’re sayin’ half the time ol’ man…”

Cor laughs til he’s blue in the face. Then he has to stop for more puking in the bushes.

And Cid just keeps him company the whole time… talking… sobering him up… letting the dam burst…

And the next day-

When Cor moans as they force him awake, pulling him out of the tent… Cid greets him with a hearty slap on the back and a smile.

“Mnnghh…c’mon guys… lemme fuckin’ sleep…astrals… head’s gonna burst…” The kid crushes his hands against his eyes.

“Just cuz your hella hungover doesn’t mean you’re exempt from your duties, _Lieutenant_.” Clarus sounds far too pleased about the situation.

“’M not fired then? Fuck.” Cor seems to be hit with a wave of all his previous night’s errors.

“Oh, Cor. I could never fire you. What would we do without all your adolescent vigor?” Regis winks.

“Piss off.” Cor seemingly lost all his respect for protocol when coming down from being smashed.

Cid offers him a hand, dragging the kid to his feet. “Got a job fer ya son.”

“Whas’at then, you want me to go drown myself again.” The morning light causes Cor to wince harshly.

“Naw, but there’s more than just yer head that still needs fixin’. C’mon.” The mechanic leads the kid to where the Regalia is parked, where this whole nasty business had all started.

Cid opens the car door and there’s still a waft of alcohol fouling up the air.

“Fuck me. Can’t believe I actually drank that…” Cor picks up the empty bottle, giving it a look of disgust.

“Hmph! Well yer gonna pay me back fer that by helpin’ me fix this here radio, that you’ve so politely shot to hell.”

Cor looks guilty as he surveys the damage. “Oops.”

“Oops indeed.” Cid says. “Now help me pull this doohickey out, and don’t think yer getting’ away without havin’ a nice chat with ol’ Cid.”

Cor doesn’t protest. He follows Cid’s instructions, unscrewing this bit, pulling out the wires of that bit… and he talks…

Hesitant at first… nothing really personal…

But he talks.

And Cid listens.

It would take a while… before he could really get a better look under the kid’s bent-up hood… but Cid takes what he gets. And does what he does best. He restores Cor to working order. A little at a time.

He fixes.

Because that’s what he’s here for.


	9. Interlude 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarus + 80's love ballads? A match made in heaven!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna post four shorter interludes as a kind of halfway mark. This is the longest story I've written so far, and I already have another 8~ regular chapters planned. Thanks so much to everyone who's commented and followed the story thus far. I've really enjoyed writing these little moments in Cor's life :)))  
> ~Enjoy!

The thing about constantly being on the road is that you have to have some form of distraction to keep you from completely losing your mind.

Only... Clarus’s form of distraction is enough to make _everybody else_ in the car lose their godsdamn minds.

The Shield is bopping his head to the music, willfully indifferent to the sounds of protest coming from the backseat.

“Please for the love of the Astrals, Clar! Would you play something else?!” Regis groans.

His response is to just make the radio louder, singing along exuberantly to the power ballad that’s blasting through the speakers.

Wes makes a noise like _aahhHGK!_ and steeples his fingers against his forehead. 

“Astrals almighty, boy. You fixin’ ta drive us all ta insanity with that racket?!” Cid remarks.

“Don’t you wanna looove meee! I know that you dooOO!” is Clarus’s retort.

And of course, Cor chimes in his opinion. “ _Amicitia_.”

It’s so direct, Clarus fumbles over the high note of the reprise chorus.

“If you don’t shut the hell up right this second, I’m gonna return that sword you gave me and shove it down your fucking throat!”

“Oooho!” Regis laughs, rocking Clarus’s seat back and forth from his position behind it. “Burn!”

“Oh Cor,” Clarus turns, music still blasting to emphasize his reply. “I know you’d never huuurt me!”

“Aaachk! To hell with you!” Cor scrunches his face at Clarus, who’s grinning over the arm rest at him.

“C’mon Cor… don’t you wanna looooove me… I know you can’t go on forever aloooone… c’mon Corri, you know you love my voice!” Clarus is all giggles and wretched attempts at singing.

The teenager just desperately covers his ears with his hands, if only to hide his reddening face. “Shut the hell up!”

The rest of the car-ride is accompanied by a soundtrack of saccharine love pop songs, and everyone’s had enough. It’s only to be expected, when Clarus is in the passenger seat.

Later, though…

As they set up camp, Clarus perks his head up, looking curiously at Cor.

“You say somethin’?” He asks the kid.

Cor just scowls at him, then busies himself untangling the tent.

But there it is again.

Something like humming.

Clarus feels a grin stretch across his face.

Seemingly caught up in his effort to pitch the tent, Cor drops his guard a bit. Hums a little. Tuneless at first, but then it’s there. Unmistakable.

And when Clarus catches a mumbled _don’t you wanna_ … he nearly chokes on the beer he’s drinking.

“Hmmm, what’s that Cor?” He can’t help himself.

“Don’t know what you’re on about, Amicitia. Why don’t you make yourself useful, would you?” Cor hides his face, turning away.

“Oh sure, Corri.” Clarus smirks wickedly “I know you can’t go on fooorever alo-”

Before he can even finish his mockery, Cor is shoving a tent rod into his ribs.

“You better consider shutting up, Amicitia!”

Recovering from the hit, and then laughing in response, Clarus grabs him closer, teasingly. “C’mon Cor. I know you looove me!”

“Shut up!”

“How can we go on… when we’ve come sooo faaar!”

“Shut up, shut up, _shut up!_ ”

Clarus rubs his hair, scuffing it into disarray, still singing lines from the abhorrent song.

“C’mon! Isn’t it your favorite song Cor? Isn’t it totally bitchin’? I know you loooove it!”

“Aaaghhhk! You’re a dead man Amicitia!”

“Oooh I’m so scared.”

“You should be!”

Cor would never admit it, no. That the catchy tune would sometimes pop into his head without meaning to. But Clarus takes a sweet little pleasure every time he catches the kid training by himself… swiping his sword around… mumbling lyrics with each swing.


	10. Interlude 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regis + Cor + sleeping arrangements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another quick little chapter.  
> ~enjoy

Somehow… Regis always ends up sleeping next to Cor. In the tent… which, to be fair, is hardly suitable for a party of six (which is why most times, Cid ends up sleeping in the car), but it’s always Regis who gets shoved along the left edge of the damn tent, right next to Cor. Maybe it’s because they’re the youngest… he doesn’t know.

But what he does know is that while Cor Leonis makes it his life goal to remain aloof and untouchable in his waking hours… he’s a completely different person while sleeping.

Like now- Regis groans as he shoves off an offending limb for what must be the sixth time already that night.

Cor grumbles but it’s clear he’s not conscious.

“Get the hell off me kid!” Regis gripes into his pillow. He’s a fairly light sleeper as it is… but with Cor…

He first discovered his teenage friend’s habit when they were forced to share a bunk at the base awhile back. And boy did Cor kick up a fuss. All _why the hell do I gotta sleep with you_ and _you better stay the hell on your side of the bed Caelum_. But it turned out it was Regis who should’ve been more on guard. Cor was… positively _clingy_. Something Regis had never, ever expected. But when he woke in the middle of the night to the younger boy practically latched to his waist, he found it beyond comical.

But now… well now he regrets _everything_. He should have never let Clarus and Weskham use their age as some kind of authority. The two of them, sleeping in peace on the right side while he, the Prince of fucking Lucis, was fending off his dignity by kicking a teenage boy from under his sleeping bag.

“Godsdammit Cor! Please for the love of the gods, stop fucking moving!” He mutters as yet again, the kid found a way to cuddle up too close.

He should have figured. Cor grew up in a family with six other siblings. Regis should have known based on the size of his apartment that there couldn’t have been enough beds for all of them. Probably slept in a little pile of the floor or something. He would feel bad but-

Gods, Cor rolls over onto his side, smooshing his weight into Regis’s stomach.

“Enough!” The Prince tries to keep quiet, tries to wrestle Cor off without waking him, but the kid’s got his eyes lazily creaking open at him.

“Hmmng?” He would be cute, with his mussed up hair and vacant expression, if Regis wasn’t about to just shove him bodily from the tent to finally get a good night sleep.

“Stay on your fucking side, Leonis.” Regis says, and gives him a hearty shove while he’s at it.

Cor just rolls onto his stomach, seemingly falling back to sleep instantly. Bastard.

When it finally seems like Regis might be able to doze off without interruption-

“Ahhhgk!”

“Mmmng, what’s happin’?” Clarus slurs, lifting his head from his position- the combat-free slice of heaven that is the right side of the tent.

“Go back to sleep Clar,” Regis sighs. Then he begins kicking Cor’s leg, which somehow found a way under his blanket.

“Hmmng huh?” Cor doesn’t even open his eyes.

Regis just shifts his leg, angling it so he can try to hook Cor’s and shove it back from under the blanket.

He pauses. “What the fuck kid. Who wears fucking socks to bed?”

There’s fuzzy little feet attempting to ward off the Prince’s leg.

“I get cold.” Cor says matter-of-factly. As if that’s a good reason.

“Astrals. Well you’re making me sweat! Now-” All pretense of self-respect lost, Regis sits up, grabs the kid’s legs in his arms and drags him into the farthest corner.

“Hey!” Cor can’t really do anything as he’s dumped damn near into the tent lining.

“Stay. On. Your. _Side_. Leonis.” Regis punctuates his point by grabbing his blanket and throwing it over his head, huffing.

“Goodnight…” Cor says, and he sounds so petulant, Regis wants to drag him around again, just for fun.

Instead he just sighs… and lets himself relax…

At least enough to get some sleep… before there’s another teenage limb to ward off. 


	11. Interlude 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cor's weird food habits... yeah he's definitely that kid smh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! I got distracted :P  
> I really havent forgotten this story, and I'm hoping to have more willpower to keep going.
> 
> Here's another shortie ~  
> Enjoy!

Cor’s not a picky eater, and Wes is glad for it. He’s been trying his hand at a few new recipes, if not just for the benefit of the group, but for himself maybe; the diner food was getting pretty old. And he’s starting to enjoy it too. Coming up with new dishes, trying to find a way to appease everyone’s tastes. For his part, Cor seems to enjoy almost everything he cooks. And Wes is glad. But it’s… that _little_ thing…

Cor’s not picky, no. But he does have certain habits…

“We got any ketchup?” A harmless query, at first, Wes thinks. He’d made meat patties, so it wasn’t too out of place. Passing the bottle to his young friend, the advisor has no idea the can of worms he’s about to unleash on his culinary career. No one comments as Cor practically _douses_ his meal in the thick red sauce. At least not the first time.

When Wes makes salmon though…

“Hmm..” Is all Cor says as he appraises the meal and seemingly out of nowhere procures a bottle of ketchup. 

Wes stares open-mouthed as the kid _defiles_ the balance of flavors the advisor had just spent hours preparing.

The advisor makes a choked sound as the boy recaps the bottle.

“What?” Cor says, as he stabs the fish with a fork, chewing the red-smeared piece with satisfaction.

At first, they all think nothing of it. Maybe the kid just doesn’t know fine dining. Sure.

Just a cute little habit.

Nothing wrong with that…

But Cor puts ketchup on _everything_.

Steak... pasta... chicken… vegetables… _salad…_

Wes nearly has a heart attack when his creamy mushroom and lamb dish is met with Cor’s ketchup assault. And he just eats through it all!

“What the fuck kid?” Clarus is the first to address it.

“Eh?” Cor continues making his plate a ketchup swamp.

“All that damned ketchup! What’s the matter with ya? Got something wrong with yer tastebuds, son?” Cid actually snatches the bottle from the boy’s hand.

Cor just shrugs and make a _‘I don’t know’_ sound as he begins eating his meal.

“Is it the food?” Wes hates how desperate he sounds. “Do you not like the cooking? I can make whatever you’d like-”

“No, the food’s great, Wes.” Surprisingly Cor deals him a smile. “Really. I just… like ketchup.”

Huh.

It could have been as simple as that. And Wes should’ve just chalked it up to a weird quirk. He shouldn’t have to take it so… personal.

But it becomes his mission to try to beat the ketchup out of the kid’s godsdamned palate!

“We got any-”

“No!” Wes cuts him off before he can even think about it.

“But-”

“This is _lobster,_ Cor.”

“Yeah? So?” Cor’s lucky his adolescence makes his obliviousness kind of endearing. But still. Wes can’t take it anymore! Meals are supposed to be enjoyed in a certain way. He takes pride in the nuance of flavors he imbues into his dishes. And the thought of disrupting that balance-

He hears a bottle cap unscrewing.

Gods! Where was he getting the stuff?!

“Cor, so help me. If you put even a fleck of ketchup on that lobster I’ll show you personally how I cooked the fucking things, now sit down and enjoy your meal in a civilized manner!”

Wes doesn’t let himself lose composure that easily. But the stunned silence that follows... and the look on Cor’s face…

The kid slowly twists the cap back into place, _pouting_ , like a godsdamned child told to go to bed without dessert.

The way he sulkily eats the lobster almost makes Wes burst into laughter. Godsdamned brat.

After the meal, the rest of the group all thank Wes and help to clean up the mess. Cor’s still sitting at the table, rubbing a hand up his neck, awkwardly.

“Thanks Wes. It was really good.” He grumbles, and Wes almost misses the last part, because it’s so shaded under his breath. “Woulda been better with ketchup though…”

“C’mere boy!” Wes makes a swipe at him, ready to grab his collar.

Cor dodges, but he’s laughing slightly. As if he knows how much of a punkass he’s being.

“I just think it coulda made it more flavorful, ya know?” The kid still manages to playfully evade as Wes continues his attack.

“Oh you’re asking for it now!”

“C’mon Wes! It’s not like it was bad. I just think that ketchup completes a meal!” He’s actually laughing now. And maybe Wes doesn’t feel so worked up anymore.

But… he still manages to tackle him to the ground.

Kid deserves some kinda penalty, after all.


End file.
